“Your majesty may keep his mind easy on that point,” replied the warders. “We had tried everything we could think of to get rid of her majesty the queen, but without effect. So a young madcap Shadow, half against the will of the older ones of us, slipped upstairs into the nursery; and has, no doubt, succeeded in appalling the baby, for he is very lithe and long-legged.—Now, your majesty.”
“I will have no such tricks played in my nursery,” said the king, rather angrily. “You might put the child beside itself.”
“Then there would be twins, your majesty. And we rather like twins.”
“None of your miserable jesting! You might put the child out of her wits.”
“Impossible, sire; for she has not got into them yet.”
“Go away,” said the king.
“Forgive us, your majesty. Really, it will do the child good; for that Shadow will, all her life, be to her a symbol of what is ugly and bad. When she feels in danger of hating or envying anyone, that Shadow will come back to her mind and make her shudder.”
“Very well,” said the king. “I like that. Let us go.”
The Shadows went through the same ceremonies and preparations as before; during which, the young Shadow before-mentioned contrived to make such grimaces as kept the baby in terror, and the queen in the nursery, till all was ready. Then with a bound that doubled him up against the ceiling, and a kick of his legs six feet out behind him, he vanished through the nursery door, and reached the king’s bedchamber just in time to take his place with the last who were melting through the window in the rear of the litter, and settling down upon the snow beneath. Away they went as before, a gliding blackness over the white carpet. And it was Christmas-eve.