came he could not imagine what she was crying about, and begged her to tell him why. 'I am weeping,' she said, sobbing all the time, 'because the hills--are not always--covered with snow. See how pretty they look! And yet--I have never, till now, seen them look like that. If you really loved me, you would manage some way or other that it should snow once a year at any rate.' "'But how can I make it snow?' cried the king in great trouble, because she would go on weeping and weeping, and spoiling her pretty eyes. "'I'm sure I don't know,' said the queen, crossly, 'but you can't love me a bit, or you'd certainly try.' "Well, the king thought and thought, and at last he hit upon a beautiful plan. He sent into all parts of Spain to buy almond trees, and planted them on the hills all round the town. Now the almond tree, as you know, has a lovely pinky-white blossom, so when the next spring arrived all these thousands of almond trees came out into bloom all over the hills round Cordova, so that they looked at a distance as if they were covered with white snow. And for once the queen was delighted, and could not help saying a nice 'Thank you' to the king for all the trouble he had taken to please her. But it was not very long before she grew discontented again, and began once more to wish for all kinds of ridiculous things. One day she was sitting at her window, and she saw some ragged little children playing by the river that ran round the palace. They were dabbling in the mud at the side, sticking their little bare feet into it, or scooping up pieces which they rolled into balls and threw at one another. The queen watched them for some time, and at last she began to weep bitterly. One of her maidens ran and told the king that the queen was weeping, and he came in a great hurry to see what was the matter. "'Just look at those children down there!' said the queen, sobbing and pointing to them. 'Did you ever see anybody so happy? Why can't I have mud to dabble in too, and why can't I take off my shoes and stockings, and amuse myself like the children do, instead of being so dull and stuck-up all day long?' "'Because it isn't proper for queens to dabble in the mud,' said the poor king in great perplexity, for he didn't at all like the idea of his beautiful queen dabbling in the mud with the little ragged children. "'That's just like you,' said the queen, beginning to cry faster than ever,' you never do anything to please me. What's the good of being proper? What's the good of being a queen at all?'