"Have you ever seen a princess, Daddy
Captain, and did she look like me?"
"I seed--I _saw_--one, once," replied the Captain, gravely, puffing
at his pipe. "In Africky it was, when I was fust mate to an Indiaman.
And she wa'n't like you, Peach Blossom, no more than Hyperion to a
Satyr, and that kind o' thing. She had on a short petticut, comin'
half-way down to her knees, and a necklace, and a ring through her
nose. And--"
"Where were her other clothes?" asked the child.
"Wal--maybe she kem off in a hurry and forgot 'em!" said the Captain,
charitably. "Anyhow, not speakin' her language, I didn't ask her.
And she was as black as the ace of spades, and shinin' all over with
butter."
"Oh, _that_ kind of princess!" said Star, loftily. "I didn't mean
that kind, Daddy. I meant the kind who live in fretted palaces, with
music in th' enamelled stones, you know, and wore clothes like these
every day."
"Wal, Honey, I never saw one of that kind, till now!" said the
Captain, meekly. "And I'm sorry I hain't--I mean I _ain't_--got no
fretted palace for my princess to live in. This is a poor place for
golden lasses and velvet trains."
"It _isn't_!" cried the child, her face flashing into sudden anger,
and stamping her foot.
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