"Has she
more than two? Is there treason in that?"
"You dressed her in cast-off clothes," said the queen.
"I dressed her in my own sweet child's Sunday clothes. And this is
what I get for it!" cried the shepherdess, bursting into tears.
"And what did you do with the clothes you took off her? Sell them?"
"Put them in the fire, madam. They were not fit for the poorest
child in the mountains. They were so ragged that you could see her
skin through them in twenty different places."
"You cruel woman, to torture a mother's feelings so!" cried the
queen, and in her turn burst into tears.
"And I'm sure," sobbed the shepherdess, "I took every pains to teach
her what it was right for her to know. I taught her to tidy the
house and"--
"Tidy the house!" moaned the queen. "My poor wretched offspring!"
"And peel the potatoes, and"--
"Peel the potatoes!" cried the queen. "Oh, horror!"
"And black her master's boots," said the shepherdess.
"Black her master's boots!" shrieked the queen.
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