There was a merry throng around
the tree, and the children were smiling and gleeful, and all in that
house seemed content and happy. Barbara heard them singing, and their
song was about the prince who was to come on the morrow.
"This must be the house where the prince will stop," thought Barbara.
"How I would like to see his face and hear his voice!--yet what would
he care for _me_, a 'miserable little beggar'?"
So Barbara crept on through the storm, shivering and disconsolate, yet
thinking of the prince.
"Where are you going?" she asked of the wind as it overtook her.
"To the cathedral," laughed the wind. "The great people are flocking
there, and I will have a merry time amongst them, ha, ha, ha!"
And with laughter the wind whirled away and chased the snow toward the
cathedral.
"It is there, then, that the prince will come," thought Barbara. "It
is a beautiful place, and the people will pay him homage there.
Perhaps I shall see him if I go there."
[Illustration: "This must be the house where the prince will stop,"
thought Barbara.]
So she went to the cathedral. Many folk were there in their richest
apparel, and the organ rolled out its grand music, and the people sang
wondrous songs, and the priests made eloquent prayers; and the music,
and the songs, and the prayers were all about the prince and his
expected coming. The throng that swept in and out of the great edifice
talked always of the prince, the prince, the prince, until Barbara
really loved him very much, for all the gentle words she heard the
people say of him.
Pages:
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25
26
27
28
29
30
31
32
33
34
35
36
37