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NCE upon a time there was a little princess. Her mother, the queen, was dead long ago, oh, very long ago-ages ago, in fact, for she died when the little princess was only a baby; and that must have been a very long time ago, for the little princess had got to be eighteen And when one is eighteen years years old. old it is a very long time since one was a baby. Anybody knows that. The king, her father, was not dead. On the contrary, he was very much alive. But he was very busy indeed, and rarely came home, which was about the same as being dead so far as the little princess was concerned.

For the king, her father, was a great engineer, who had to be going about the world all the time-or most of it-looking at rivers, or the places where rivers ought to be, and at dams, and at deep holes in the ground where rivers would be as soon as they turned the water in, and at locks and canals and such things. To be sure, he had a salary of nearly a million dollars a year for looking at these things; but what is a million dollars a year compared with a little princess of your very own? And will looking at holes in the ground, even at such a fabulous salary as a million dollars a year, be as pleasant for a king as looking at his princess? It was too bad for the king, too, for he was a good king and a pleasant man-when he was at home. I don't know what sort of a man he was when he was looking at the dams and the rivers, for I never saw him when he was

looking at them. I say that it was bad for the king, of course, but it was very much worse for the princess.

I am sorry for that king, and for any other king who thinks he has to earn a million dollars a year that is likely-no, sure to keep him from the little princes and princesses for years at a time. There is a lot of pleasure to be got out of merely watching princes and princesses, especially if they are your very own, and seeing them grow-though that is sad, too, to see them growing up so fastand seeing about proper schools for them, and seeing that they have the kind of teachers that they ought to have for their music and their dancing and the rest. And it is lots of fun to teach them, yourself, to skate and to swim and to ride a horse and to sail a boat. I know; and that is why I am so sorry for this king, for he didn't scem to know. If he had known, he would have taken that salary of a million dollars for just one year, and then he would have settled down to see about the teaching of his little princess-his very

own.

Now, this little princess that I am telling about was a very pretty, fetching little princess, and, of course, she had almost everything that she wanted-which was entirely fitting, when the king, her father, made so much money every year; and she had some things she did not want-and that was fitting, too. She had nurses without end, when she was a child, and one special nurse that seemed to be without end, for she stayed

with the princess for a very long time; in fact, she was still staying with her when the princess was eighteen, and she acted as if she meant to stay on as long as she lived. And the princess thought that was nice-generally; once in a while she got out of sorts with her faithful old nurse and wished that she would take it into her head to go away. But that wish lasted only a little while, and the nurse didn't go. Indeed, I don't know where she would have gone to, for she had lived with the princess for so many years that she hadn't any other home. Her own home had gone all to rack and ruin long before and she had forgotten it.

And, besides this special nurse without end, the princess had some aunts, who came and went, and whom she never got to feeling that she knew very well; for just as she was beginning to know them they would up stakes and go away, and a perfectly brand-new aunt would come, that she had never seen, or at any rate had not seen for two years at least. And she had some uncles, of course, but they didn't count, anyway, for they were always away at their offices and she scarcely knew them by sight. And there was a cousin or two, but they weren't of much more use than the uncles.

And besides the aunts and the uncles and the cousin or two and the nurse-her special nurse-the princess had horses and automobiles and a yacht that was big enough for an ocean steamer, and men servants and maid servants, and everything else that usually goes with a million dollars a year; everything except the thing that she wanted the most of all, and that she could not get, although she tried as hard as ever she could, and that was very hard indeed.

One day the princess was sitting in her room, among all her beautiful things, moping and thinking upon her lot, and thinking how very hard it was that, with all the million dollars a year, she could not get the thing she wanted the most. And she thought that, if she had no more than a thousand dollars a year, or even five hundred-or nothing a year-she would stand a better chance of getting the thing she wanted so badly.

Thinking that, she pouted a little and looked as if she wanted to cry; which you would have hoped she would not do, for that would have made her look unhappy instead of merely out of sorts, and would not have been fitting at all. For this little

princess seemed made for happiness and not at all for unhappiness, and her eyes were not the kind for tears, although she would have looked very fetching and touching still, even if she were crying; that is, unless her tears were tears of real, downright grief, and then your heart would have nearly broken to see her. She had not lived long enough yet to weep such tears. She wanted to cry because she did not have what she wanted, as a child cries for the moon; but it was a very nice moon and she did want it so! And, just as she had got to this point in her thoughts, her nurse came in. But I suppose I should not call her a nurse any longer. The princess had given up calling her a nurse long ago, and I don't know what she did call her; and, not knowing what else to call her, I must call her a nurse.

She saw that something was wrong as soon as she came in. "What's the matter with my lamb ?" asked the nurse. Such an absurd way of speaking to a princess as the nurse had!

The princess was so absorbed in thinking of her hard lot that she forgot to notice how absurd the nurse's words were. 'Oh, Martha," she said, "I wish that I hadn't a cent in the world, not a cent!" she said.

What an absurd thing for a princess to say! But the nurse didn't seem to think it absurd. She put her arms about the little princess. "What's the old money been doing to my dearie now?" said she.

And as the princess was just about to answer, being very sorry for herself-which is a dangerous state to get into-she happened to look out of the window.

"Oh !" she cried, and straightened up.

And her tears fled away, and the tightness at her throat was gone, and she smiled, oh, so sweetly! all by herself. For Martha, the old nurse, didn't count, of course. It was a pity that there was no one to see but Martha, for she had seen the princess smile many times, although it is to be doubted if even she had ever seen her smile like that. Somebody ought to have been there to see it. And Martha looked out of the window, naturally, to see what was the cause of that smile, and then she knew.

For somebody was out there in the snow, plowing joyfully through it; and he had a smile on his face, too, a wholly impersonal smile. And the princess knew that the smile on Somebody's face was not for her, but she didn't care he wasn't looking up,

and he didn't know that she was there, of course-although that was little comfort to her; but she tried to think it was, and that, if he knew, he would look up at her. He really ought to have looked. She would have been glad if that smile of Somebody's had been for her-she would have been overjoyed. But, anyway, he was smiling.

And so she stood up there at her window. Of course she didn't wave at him or do anything of that kind. She only thought—or he didn't consciously think, either; she felt that a movement at her window might make him look up. And so it did, and he raised his hat and smiled the more. Who could have helped it? For the princess looked so young and bright, standing there, not pouting and wanting to cry, but smiling and smiling down at him just as much as she dared. A princess has to be very careful how she distributes her smiles about, and must give some of them to each one of her suitors, and not save them all for Somebody who is not a suitor at all. The little princess had suitors enough, goodness knows, as all princesses must have, just because they are princesses; and, if they are as lovely as our little princess was, the suitors must be without end, just as the nurses were. It was rather a pity that, after having so many of them, the one she wanted the most-the only one she wantedshould not be among them. For, as it was, suitors were one of the things the princess had that she did not want. She wanted the moon, instead.

Martha, the nurse, saw it all. She had not known it before. And when Somebody had passed on, the little princess turned to her and threw herself into Martha's arms, that were always ready for her-always ready and waiting.

"Oh, why," cried the princess, "couldn't he have stopped? Why couldn't he have stopped and come in? Any of the rest of them would have-when I almost asked him to. It was just the same as asking. And I can't run after him."

And she cried a little there with Martha's arms about her, and with Martha saying all sorts of foolish things to her. Such foolish things to say to a princess who has a million dollars a year!

My little girl!" she said. My poor

lamb! Martha's dear little lamb!" And she rocked to and fro, as if it had been seventeen years earlier. But the princess seemed to find it comforting. She raised

her head suddenly and smiled through her tears; a very determined smile. You would not have expected it of her. "I will," she cried. "I will." "Will what?" asked Martha. "Run after him," answered the princess. "Can't you call the car, Martha ? And tell him to hurry with it. That's a dear Martha !"

Martha considered for a minute-a very short minute-looking at the princess the while. And the princess looked very wistful, and very pitiful, and very sweet, so that Martha smiled at her. After all, what harm?

"Well," she said, sighing, "I will call the car. But I must go with you." And she

out.

And Martha went to the telephone and called the car; but Clement, thinking, naturally enough, that the car would not be wanted in that snow-storm, had its insides out on the floor, and they could not be put in again in less than half an hour. So Martha called Michael and told him to bring the horses around at once to take the princess And because Michael loved the princess dearly, and would have done anything in the world for her-anything that he could do-he would have tried anything whether he could do it or not, even to standing on his head in that snow-storm before her window, if she only expressed a wish for it; and Michael was getting on in years, and he was getting rather stout, too, and very dignified, as was fitting for a coachman to the kingbecause Michael loved the princess dearly, I say, he hurried, and he was at the door in a jiffy, before ever you would have thought it possible to get the harness on.

And the princess was waiting at the door, and Martha was ready and waiting too, although I don't see how she had time to get her things on. And the footman jumped down before the horses had stopped, but he was not quick enough for the princess, and it was all he could do to get to the side of the sleigh, to say nothing of getting up the steps to the great door of the house.

But the princess didn't mind that; she never minded such small matters. And now she was in such a hurry to be off. She smiled at both of the men. "Merry Christmas, James!"

she said, "And merry Christmas, Michael! It's a fine snow-storm."

And both of the men were so pleased, and they both said something, they hardly knew what, and they both smiled until you thought it must have hurt them, they smiled so wide. And James tucked the furs about the princess and Martha, and jumped up beside Michael just in time.

"Straight ahead, Michael," cried the princess," and hurry!"

So Michael hurried, and the horses went fast, and their bells made a merry sound, and the snow came softly down, and altogether

"OH!" SHE CRIED. "OH !"

the princess found herself feeling rather glad and joyful before she knew it. But they didn't catch Somebody, although they went straight ahead until they were out of the city. And the princess didn't feel glad any longer, but she felt as listless as it was possible for a girl to feel who was eighteen years old, and who was as well as could be, and who was out sleighing in that snowstorm.

When they had gone so far that the princess knew that they must have missed Somebody, she told Michael to go around by another way and home. This other way was