TWILIGHT LAND © ‘

and plantations of trees along the banks of the stream,
and gardens and summer-houses and pavilions. There
were white houses and red roofs and blue skies. Up
above on the hill were olive orchards and fields, and then
blue sky again.

Beppo went into the town, gazing about him with
admiration. Houses, palaces, gardens. He had never
seen the like. Stores and shops full of cloths of velvet
and silk and satin; goldsmiths, silversmiths, jewellers—
as though all the riches of the world had been emptied
into the city. Crowds of people—lords, noblemen, cour~
tiers, rich merchants, and tradesmen.

Beppo stared about at the fine sights and everybody
stared at Beppo, for his shoes were dusty, his clothes
were travel-stained, and a razor had not touched his face
for a week.

The king of that country was walking in the garden
under the shade of the trees, and the sunlight slanted
down upon him, and sparkled upon the jewels around his
neck and on his fingers. Two dogs walked alongside of
him, and a whole crowd of lords and nobles and courtiers
came behind him; first of all the prime minister with his
long staff.

But for all this fine show this king was not really the
king. When the old king died he left a daughter, and
she should have been queen if she had had her own
rights. But this king, who was her uncle, had stepped
in before her, and so the poor princess was pushed
aside and was nobody at all but a princess, the king’s
niece.

She stood on the terrace with her old nurse, while the
king walked in the garden below.

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