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is against the law, too; no human may own another in the Kingdom of Dor.”
    “But I paid for her fair and square with a good laying hen and a handful of cigarettes and a blood-red tablecloth.”
    “No matter,” said the soldier, “it is against the law to own another. Now, you will hand over to me, if you please, your spoons, your bowls, your kettle, and your girl. Or if you choose not to hand over these things, then you will come with me to be imprisoned in the castle dungeon. Which will it be?”
    And that is how Miggery Sow came to be sitting in a wagon full of soup-related items, next to a soldier of the king.
    “Do you have parents?” said the soldier. “I will return you to them.”
    “Eh?”
    “A ma?” shouted the soldier.
    “Dead!” said Mig.
    “Your pa?” shouted the soldier.
    “I ain’t seen him since he sold me.”
    “Right. I’ll take you to the castle then.”
    “Gor,” said Mig, looking around the wagon in confusion. “You want me to paddle?”
    “To the castle!” shouted the soldier. “I’ll take you to the castle.”
    “The castle? Where the itty-bitty princess lives?”
    “That’s right.”
    “Gor,” said Mig, “I aim to be a princess, too, someday.”
    “That’s a fine dream,” said the soldier. He clucked to the horse and tapped the reins and they took off.
    “I’m happy to be going,” said Mig, putting a hand up and gently touching one of her cauliflower ears.
    “Might just as well be happy, seeing as it doesn’t make a difference to anyone but you if you are or not,” said the soldier. “We will take you to the castle and they will set you up fine. You no longer will be a slave. You will be a paid servant.”
    “Eh?” said Mig.
    “You will be a servant!” shouted the soldier. “Not a slave!”
    “Gor!” said Mig, satisfied. “A servant I will be, not a slave.”
    She was twelve years old. Her mother was dead. Her father had sold her. Her Uncle, who wasn’t her uncle at all, had clouted her until she was almost deaf. And she wanted, more than anything in the world, to be a little princess wearing a golden crown and riding a high-stepping white horse.
    Reader, do you think that it is a terrible thing to hope when there is really no reason to hope at all? Or is it (as the soldier said about happiness) something that you might just as well do, since, in the end, it really makes no difference to anyone but you?

MIGGERY SOW’S LUCK CONTINUED. On her first day on the job as a castle servant, she was sent to deliver a spool of red thread to the princess.
    “Mind,” said the head of the serving staff, a dour woman named Louise, “she is royalty, so you must make sure you curtsy.”
    “How’s that?” shouted Mig.
    “You must curtsy!” shouted Louise.
    “Gor,” said Mig, “yes’m.”
    She took the spool of thread from Louise and made her way up the golden stairs to the princess’s room, talking to herself as she went.
    “Here I am, off to see the princess. Me, Miggery Sow, seeing the princess up close and personal-like. And first off, I must cursy because she is the royalty.”
    At the door to the princess’s room, Mig had a sudden crisis of confidence. She stood a moment, clutching the spool of thread and muttering to herself.
    “Now, how did that go?” she said. “Give the princess the thread and then give her a cursy? No, no, first the cursy and then the thread. That’s it. Gor, that’s right, that’s the order. Start with the cursy and finish with the thread.”
    She knocked at the princess’s door.
    “Enter,” said the Pea.
    Mig, hearing nothing, knocked again.
    “Enter,” said the Pea.
    And Mig, still hearing nothing, knocked yet again. “Maybe,” she said to herself, “the princess ain’t to home.”
    But then the door was flung wide and there was the princess herself, staring right at Miggery Sow.
    “Gor,” said Mig, her mouth hanging open.
    “Hello,” said the Pea. “Are you the new serving maid? Have you brought me my