as a peasant.
"Yes, sir," she said. "And you, sir?" she asked. "Will you be going, and getting a gift? Blimey, I suppose you never got no gift before, sir." She made the observation slyly, knowing that the schoolmaster was really not a common peasant at all, because the chambermaid had told her of the high origins of Herr Gutmann. She wondered if he would confess to her now who he was.
But he did not. "No," he replied. "There have been no gifts in my life."
She teased him a bit. "Aw, sir, surely your ma gave you sumpthin'? A play horsie carved of wood?"
His look was sad. "My ma died when I was just a small boy," he told her.
"Oh, sir! A pity, that! Was she killed like my ma, by a—what was it, then? A wild dog?"
"You once said a boar, Pat, and that it was your pa who died."
"Oh! I did indeed, and it was that, a boar killed my pa. I forgot for a minute. A boar killed my pa, and my ma does laundry, and that's the truth."
"My mother died after giving birth to my sister," the schoolmaster said, "and my little sister is gone as well—my pa sent her away—so I have lost them both."
"Blimey, that was cruel of yer pa!"
"I no longer think of him as Pa. He disowned me when I went off to become a teacher. Too uppity, he said. Putting on airs, he called it."
"But, sir!" She caught herself. She had almost revealed that she knew of his noble origins. Something stopped her. He looked too sad.
"I'm finished here, sir. I'll be off now."
He nodded, looking down again at the spelling papers. She hoped that her careful misspellings looked real and that he—for one more day, until the ball, which she so dreaded—would continue to think her an uneducated girl, a humble peasant in need of his teaching.
Outside the schoolhouse, the princess called to her waiting pet. She had been feeding Delicious extra sardines so that the cat would not sadden the orphan by eating birds. Now she could see, as Delicious woke up and rolled over, in response to her call, that the additional rations were having an effect. The cat was developing quite a tummy.
"Your size is ambitious, Delicious," she said, but her mind was really elsewhere and the fun of her own wordplay was diminished. She walked slowly back to the castle, the cat at her heels, thinking about how the village world would be lost to her after the ball. Briefly, too, she thought with despair about the impending arrival of the suitors.
13. The Kitchen
The huge kitchen and its anterooms were alive with bustle and noise. There was no music now, except for the quiet sounds from a pantry corner where the three serving girls, exempted from their regular duties, were working on the song they'd been commanded to prepare for the ball. Today it was the clank of kettles and the clatter of plates, the thunk of knives, the roar of the cooking fires, and the hurried footsteps of the many servants, all of it orchestrated by the barked commands of the cook.
"You! Pulley Boy!" she shouted.
"Yes, Cook?" The boy looked in from the hallway where he always positioned himself near the pulley door. He was a tall boy with curly hair and bright blue eyes.
"Take a helper and go bring in the pigeons! There's two hundred of them waiting out by the back entrance, all of them with their necks fresh wrung."
" Necks wrung, Cook?" The pulley boy gulped. He liked birds, had even kept a few as pets back in the village, before he took this job.
"We can't eat 'em with their wings flappin', now can we?" she replied with a wide grin.
"Well, no, I guess not," the pulley boy acknowledged, though to himself he was wondering why anyone had to eat them at all. If he had his way, he would eat nothing but carrots and beans and bread. Maybe a fish now and then. He didn't like the thought of poor creatures becoming food. If any living thing had to have its neck wrung, he wished it were the princess's large yellow cat, which tended to hide behind draperies, then leap out and scratch the servants. Luckily the pulley boy rarely
"Yes, sir," she said. "And you, sir?" she asked. "Will you be going, and getting a gift? Blimey, I suppose you never got no gift before, sir." She made the observation slyly, knowing that the schoolmaster was really not a common peasant at all, because the chambermaid had told her of the high origins of Herr Gutmann. She wondered if he would confess to her now who he was.
But he did not. "No," he replied. "There have been no gifts in my life."
She teased him a bit. "Aw, sir, surely your ma gave you sumpthin'? A play horsie carved of wood?"
His look was sad. "My ma died when I was just a small boy," he told her.
"Oh, sir! A pity, that! Was she killed like my ma, by a—what was it, then? A wild dog?"
"You once said a boar, Pat, and that it was your pa who died."
"Oh! I did indeed, and it was that, a boar killed my pa. I forgot for a minute. A boar killed my pa, and my ma does laundry, and that's the truth."
"My mother died after giving birth to my sister," the schoolmaster said, "and my little sister is gone as well—my pa sent her away—so I have lost them both."
"Blimey, that was cruel of yer pa!"
"I no longer think of him as Pa. He disowned me when I went off to become a teacher. Too uppity, he said. Putting on airs, he called it."
"But, sir!" She caught herself. She had almost revealed that she knew of his noble origins. Something stopped her. He looked too sad.
"I'm finished here, sir. I'll be off now."
He nodded, looking down again at the spelling papers. She hoped that her careful misspellings looked real and that he—for one more day, until the ball, which she so dreaded—would continue to think her an uneducated girl, a humble peasant in need of his teaching.
Outside the schoolhouse, the princess called to her waiting pet. She had been feeding Delicious extra sardines so that the cat would not sadden the orphan by eating birds. Now she could see, as Delicious woke up and rolled over, in response to her call, that the additional rations were having an effect. The cat was developing quite a tummy.
"Your size is ambitious, Delicious," she said, but her mind was really elsewhere and the fun of her own wordplay was diminished. She walked slowly back to the castle, the cat at her heels, thinking about how the village world would be lost to her after the ball. Briefly, too, she thought with despair about the impending arrival of the suitors.
13. The Kitchen
The huge kitchen and its anterooms were alive with bustle and noise. There was no music now, except for the quiet sounds from a pantry corner where the three serving girls, exempted from their regular duties, were working on the song they'd been commanded to prepare for the ball. Today it was the clank of kettles and the clatter of plates, the thunk of knives, the roar of the cooking fires, and the hurried footsteps of the many servants, all of it orchestrated by the barked commands of the cook.
"You! Pulley Boy!" she shouted.
"Yes, Cook?" The boy looked in from the hallway where he always positioned himself near the pulley door. He was a tall boy with curly hair and bright blue eyes.
"Take a helper and go bring in the pigeons! There's two hundred of them waiting out by the back entrance, all of them with their necks fresh wrung."
" Necks wrung, Cook?" The pulley boy gulped. He liked birds, had even kept a few as pets back in the village, before he took this job.
"We can't eat 'em with their wings flappin', now can we?" she replied with a wide grin.
"Well, no, I guess not," the pulley boy acknowledged, though to himself he was wondering why anyone had to eat them at all. If he had his way, he would eat nothing but carrots and beans and bread. Maybe a fish now and then. He didn't like the thought of poor creatures becoming food. If any living thing had to have its neck wrung, he wished it were the princess's large yellow cat, which tended to hide behind draperies, then leap out and scratch the servants. Luckily the pulley boy rarely
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