His every movement was accompanied by the tinkling of jingle bells.
“It is a dead man!” whispered Little Irene fearfully.
“It is Cunningson,” replied the Prince, “and that’s the court jester. What is he doing there, though, I wonder? It is as though he were trying to lift him up and carry him away all by himself…”
All of a sudden, the dwarf crouched over the dead man, ripped his shirt open, thrust his hand inside, and with a squeal and a giggle he rose up again, and ran to the vale, and from thence to the capital, as fast as his crooked little bowed legs would take him.
“What did he do?” asked Little Irene, shaking all over. “What did he do to Cunningson?”
“I could not make out,” replied the Prince, “but then again the jester has always been a little unhinged… Come, Little Irene, do not be so frightened!”
They picked up their trail once again, towards the vale, which they descended heading towards the woods.
It was heavenly at that time of the day. The small birds were singing their morning song, which rose up like a prayer to the gentle sky above. The flowers spread their sweet fragrance all around them, and a thousand translucent droplets had caught themselves on every leaf, every blade of grass, like diamonds of incalculable worth.
Nature was waking up everywhere to the first rays of the sun. A chaffinch flew low, seeking a blade of hay, or a downy feather, with which to build its nest. The bees fluttered about, humming lovingly around the dewy wild flowers, and the bramble bush was spreading forth its twigs and branches, heavy with fruit, as though offering them up to the famished siblings.
“Oh, what lovely blackberries!” exclaimed Little Irene. “Come, let us gather them all.”
The Prince, however, remained crouched close to the ground, observing the comings and goings of the ants, which followed always the same path, whether they were coming or going, stopping here and there as though to chat to one another, then departing again in haste, without ever stepping out of their file. A few were laden with some grain or insect, and the Prince remarked that these ones were all travelling to the same place, whereas the ones returning from it never carried anything at all.
“Come here, Little Irene,” he called, “come! Let us find out where the ants are taking their load!”
And stooping low, close upon the ground, brother and sister followed the living line, which terminated at a little hole, where all the ants of burden would make their way in, and would come out again afterwards without their load, going away once more to find some other thing to carry.
“How strange, indeed,” said Little Irene. “Look, they do not eat their food; instead they hide it inside the hole.”
“The hole is their nest,” replied the Prince — and he went on, deeply absorbed in thought. “Do you recall the words of Knowledge, that by living close to nature one may learn many things? Here then is the first lesson that the ant teaches us. It will not simply collect its daily meal; instead, it makes a deposit of food in its nest, perhaps for the more difficult times ahead…”
“Yes, indeed,” said Little Irene with admiration. “It would be a good thing if we did the same ourselves. Yet what may we gather? The blackberries will rot, they will not keep!”
“We must do things altogether differently,” replied the Prince, “if we wish to be ready to face the storms and tempests, be prepared when evil times might fall upon us.”
Brother and sister continued on their way, talking and gathering whatever fruit they found on the trees and low shrubs.
Before long, they came to a lake, half-concealed under the trees and beneath the thickets of reeds. A flock of frightened wild ducks flew up and left with a tremendous flapping of wings.
“Ducks!” cried out the Prince joyfully. “Since this is where they nest, we should find lots of eggs!”
Indeed, it did not take them long to find the nests, and to collect so many eggs that, once the basket was full, they had to tie their neckerchiefs into makeshift pouches and fill these too.
“What a shame that you do not have a bow!” said Little Irene. “You might have killed a wild duck or two. Look, not all of them are gone, there are still some over there amongst the reeds.”
“I may not have a bow, but I have a sling,” came the cheerful reply of the Prince.
And with one shot he killed a duck that was nervously poking its head out from among the reeds to take a look at the two siblings.
The hunt exhilarated him. He took off his sandals and leapt into the water to retrieve the dead bird. Then he took aim and killed more wild waterfowl.
When he had gathered a good few, he trussed them up together by threading a long bulrush through their beaks, and, slinging them over his shoulder, he headed full of good merriment towards the palace with his sister.
In the valley they also picked a bunch of wild greens.
“Now I have all I need for my stew,” said Little Irene. “Today we shall have a royal feast!”
“At least our meal will have been honourably earned,” came her brother’s reply.
When they reached the palace, everyone was still asleep.
They went into the scullery to set down their load, and there they found the equerry Polycarpus, lying asleep before the hearth.
The scullery was filthy and cluttered. The pots had been left unwashed; some chipped plates were strewn haphazardly here and there, together with dirty glasses.
Little Irene rolled up her sleeves, and began to put things in order.
“What are you going to do?” asked the Prince.
“What Knowledge herself would have done in my position,” replied Little Irene. “I shall first clean up all this mess, and then I will cook the birds, just as I saw Mistress Wise do with the meat.”
The Prince gave her a hearty embrace.
“Here’s to you, little sister,” he said. “With you by my side, I feel I shall fulfil my purpose.”
“What purpose is that?”
“To send that donkey’s head back to its donor.”
Their talk had awakened Polycarpus. He saw the siblings, and at that he got up hastily, bowed deeply, and was about to leave the room. But seeing Little Irene picking up the glasses, he stopped in his tracks, and his surprise turned into bewilderment when he then saw her wash them and dry them.
He flushed red and ran to take them away from her hands.
“This will not do, my young royal mistress! This is no work fit for your little hands!” he said, his voice cracking.
Little Irene laughed.
“And why ever not?” she asked.
“Because this is the work of the undercook!”
“And where might the undercook be?”
“He is asleep, or out revelling somewhere,” he replied.
“You see, then? It is I who must do this, since there is no one else to do the task. The scullery has to be scrubbed clean, and the meal has to be cooked. Since the head cook and the undercook are absent, I shall take their place.”
The equerry had now turned bright scarlet.
“Well… Well…” he began, and stopped.
“Well, what?” asked Little Irene.
“Well then, let me help you, my young royal mistress! If you yourself will stoop to such a task, then so shall I.”
He seized a pail and broom, and with great zeal began to scrub the floor of the scullery, while Little Irene plucked the birds.
The Prince, however, hearing voices from the royal chambers, went to deliver to his father the letter that he had found on Faintheart’s table.
The family were all gathered in the dining hall, and when the Prince entered they greeted him with one voice:
“Come closer, and hear about the miracle.”
The King strolled once, then twice before him, and then, proudly displaying his mantle, asked: