The Feather

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Ford Ford Madox. The Feather

THE FEATHER

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ONCE upon a time there was a King who reigned over a country as yet, for a reason you may learn later on, undiscovered – a most lovely country, full of green dales and groves of oak, a land of dappled meadows and sweet rivers, a green cup in a circlet of mountains, in whose shadow the grass was greenest; and the only road to enter the country lay up steep, boiling waterfalls, and thereafter through rugged passes, the channels that the rivers had cut for themselves. Therefore, as you may imagine, the dwellers in the land were little troubled by inroads of hostile nations; and they lived peaceful lives, managing their own affairs, and troubling little about the rest of the world.

Now this King, like many kings before and after him, had a daughter who, while very young, had, I am sorry to say, been very self-willed; and the King, on the death of his wife, finding himself utterly unable to manage the Princess, handed her over to the care of an aged nurse, who, however, was not much more successful – but that is neither here nor there.

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‘Oh yes, certainly; it’s the only thing to do. Do stop.’

‘Well, I suppose I must,’ said the Princess. ‘Only, shan’t I be rather in the way?’

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