chosen the biggest apple—but now he took the littlest apple of all.
“Seven kisses!” he cried, and began to kiss the little gold apple.
Each Prince kissed the apple he held, till the sound of kisses was like the whisper of the evening wind in leafy trees. And, of course, at the seventh kiss each Prince found that he had in his hand not an apple, but the fingers of a lovely Princess. As for Denis, he had got his little sister Daisy, and he was so glad he promised at once to give her his guinea-pigs and his whole collection of foreign postage stamps.
“What is your name, dear and lovely lady?” asked Prince Primus.
“Sexta,” said his Princess. And then it turned out that every single one of the Princes had picked the wrong apple, so that each one had a Princess who was not the one mentioned in his letter of instructions. Secundus had plucked the apple that held Quinta, and Tertius held Quarta, and so on—and everything was as criss-cross-crooked as it possibly could be.
And yet nobody wanted to change.
Then the old woman came out of her house and looked at them and chuckled, and she said—
