A very grand footman opened the door, and when he saw Marigold standing there in her woollen frock and cloak with her little basket, he said, “Back entrance!” in a loud, cross voice, and shut the door in her face.
So she went round to the back entrance. This time the door was opened by a red-faced kitchen-maid. “We’ve no dripping to give away to-day,” she said, and she too was about to shut the door.
But the queen happened to be in the kitchen giving her orders for the day, and she saw Marigold through the window. She came to the window and called to her.
“What is it, my child?” she asked, for Marigold stood there looking the picture of unhappiness.
“I’ve come to make the princess cry, please your Majesty,” she said, and made a curtsey, for the queen looked very magnificent with her crown on her head and her lovely ermine train held up over her arm to keep it off the kitchen floor.
When the queen heard what Marigold had come for, she smiled and shook her head, for how could a little country girl hope to do what so many wise men had been unable to accomplish? But Marigold was so earnest and so sure that she could make the princess cry that at last the queen promised to let her attempt it.
“You won’t hurt her?” she said. But she smiled as she said it. Marigold had such a kind little face; she did not look as if she could hurt any one.
She was taken to the princess’s apartments, and the queen went with her into the nursery and introduced her to the princess and explained why she had come.
The princess was delighted to see a nice little rosy-cheeked girl instead of the dull old men who so often came to visit her. The queen shut the door and left them alone together.
By this time the news of the little village girl who had come to make the princess cry, had spread all over the palace; and presently a whole crowd of people were standing anxiously waiting outside the nursery door.
“It’s such nonsense,” said the Chamberlain to the Prime Minister. “A village child. I don’t suppose she’s ever been outside the village.”
“Quite ridiculous,” whispered the ladies-in-waiting to the court pages. “Do you think she knows how to make a correct curtsey?”
At last the king and queen could stand the suspense no longer. They quietly opened the door and peeped in. And what do you think they saw? The princess, standing at the table in the middle of the room with Marigold’s basket in front of her, busily peeling onions as hard as she could go, while the tears streamed down her face all the while. She was crying at last!
