Take her with you, she may get sweetmeats and fine clothes; from me she has little more than harsh words and blows." Again she turned towards her wheel, but the struggle was too much, and the poor old creature wept aloud.
Sophie knew nothing of human misery, but the kind heart was warm within her. She took Engelfried’s hand, yet said nothing, for she was new to the task of consolation, but the evident kindness was enough.
"You do not know," said the old woman, mastering her emotion, as only the strong mind does master it, "life’s worst misery, poverty. Life has many others, but none like that. Poverty cost my husband’s life—my daughter’s honour. Poverty has made that fair child a curse—not a blessing. I have sat up straining my old eyes long after hers have been closed, working; and God is my witness, that I grudged not my labor; yet when day came, I have grieved the child with what seemed causeless anger. I could not bear to see her untaught—almost unfed. Take her, lady, and God bless you both."
The Princess remained silent for a moment, with emotion, unknown before.
"Mimi," said she to the little creature, who stood with her large blue eyes, larger and bluer for their fixed gaze, "you must not leave your grandmother; she is old, and you must help her; but you shall both of you come to me. There was enough in my purse to keep you for a few days. Mimi, do you see the buds on this rose bush? watch them—for before they are blown, I will return and fetch you." Sophie kissed the child, took one of the roses, and was gone.
Every morning Mimi went down to the old rose tree; bud after bud expanded into crimson beauty; and the child was watching the last three that yet remained in their soft green cradles, when the branches were put aside, and the Princess stood before the breathless and delighted child. A closer observer
