And wherever she went she cried, "I am the beautiful princess! Look at me and see my beauty; for I will show it to you now!" But nobody looked at her, for she was withered and ugly; and nobody cared for her, because she was selfish and vain.

So she made no more difference in the world than she had made before.

But the rose is blossoming still, and fills the air with its sweetness.
* * * * * "My Pink," said Hildegarde, tenderly, as she walked beside her friend's chair on their homeward way, "you are shut up like the princess; but instead of the rose stealing your sweetness, you have stolen the sweetness of all the roses, and taken it into your prison with you." "I 'shut up,' Hilda ?" cried Pink, opening wide eyes of wonder and reproach.

"Do you call _this_ being shut up?
See what I have had to-day! Enough pleasure to think about for a year.

And even without it,--even before you came, Hilda,--why, I am the happiest girl in the world, and I ought to be." Hildegarde stooped and kissed the pale forehead.