Jan had given Nono the strictest injunctions to ask questions only of policemen when he had once entered the great city. Of course Nono implicitly obeyed, and so was soon able to find the palace. What a grand building he thought it, and how beautiful the bright water about it! He was sure the world could show nothing more charming than the home of the Swedish king.

Nono would have trembled at the idea of entering the royal palace if he had not remembered that the good princess, his princess, was there. He had a friend within the castle. Not that the palace looked at all like a fortified castle. Its plain, square sides were pierced by long rows of rectangular windows, while on the water-front two long white wings shut in a quiet garden. In one of these wings, he had been told, the princess had her home. A sentinel was at the entrance of the vast courtyard through which he had learned he must pass. The guard looked so imposing that Nono almost trembled as he took off his felt hat and asked the way to the part of the palace where the princess lived. The sentinel condescended to point his finger towards the colonnade under which the desired door was to be found.

A lady was just ringing the bell. Nono watched her, and then closely imitated her movements. The door flew open for him, too, as it had done for her. A dignified, gray-haired man, in a livery Nono considered quite royal apparel, looked inquiringly at the little visitor. Nono asked simply to see the princess about a matter of importance. He was shown into a room, where a fair-haired lady gave him a kindly reception, and told him her royal highness would see him in a few moments.

What rich moments of waiting those were for little Nono! He stood as if on enchanted ground. From the wall looked out faces of gentlemen and ladies in gorgeous array. Real people they seemed to be, though silent and quiet, as, encircled by bright frames, they condescended to be looked at by the wondering, admiring black eyes that were fixed upon them. There, too, were bits of nature brought into that rich room flashing waterfalls, and quiet pastures, and golden skies through which Nono almost fancied he could see the heaven beyond.

Nono stepped on the soft carpet without a thought of its strangeness to his rustic feet. A vision of beauty had been vouchsafed to him, and his eyes glanced from picture to picture, now glistening with delight and now lost in rapt admiration.

The fair lady, who had been watching him with amusement, soon told him that he might now go in to her royal highness, but only for a few moments, as this was her morning for receiving the poor, and as she had many to talk with her she was very tired.

Nono saw nothing of the room into which he was now admitted, nothing but the tall, slender, stooping figure that came forward to meet him. The painters have liked to give the angels golden hair, but this was to Nono a black-haired angel. Smooth, dark, glossy bands framed in the high, full forehead, while the delicate chin made a corresponding point below. The large brown eyes were full of loving light, and the thin mouth smiled a welcome before the lips had spoken it.

“What have you to say to me, my boy?” said the princess. A weary look quickly clouded her face, and she sank suddenly into an easy-chair, saying, “I have had many visitors to-day, so you must say quickly and plainly what you have to tell me.”

“Perhaps I had better come another day,” said Nono. It grieved him to see his princess look so weak and worn. Recollecting himself, he added, “But I don’t see how I could, for I have come just for this a long way from near Aneholm Church.”

“Aneholm Church!” exclaimed the princess, brightening. “I once had a dear friend who lived in that neighbourhood. What do you want to tell me?”

It was hard for Nono to make his story short. He must go back to the bear, and how he came to the cottage, or the princess would not understand why he loved Karin and little Decima so, and why he felt he must help them. The princess must hear, too, about the accident, and how it was almost his fault, because he had insisted on having Decima out with the boys.

The princess soon forgot her weariness. This was no common beggar, with sycophant whine and forced civility. Nono spoke freely, frankly, and trustfully. She was some one good and powerful, who, he was sure, would gladly help him. His dark eyes looked into hers as he stood before her, while his words sprang from his heart, and his hands and his whole figure helped to illustrate his story. When he came to little Decima, the sister whom the brothers loved and took care of, who played with the boys, and was the pet and darling of all, the whole face of the listener was aglow.

“I was just such a little sister!” exclaimed the princess. “I never played with a doll in my life. I was the special pet with one of my brothers, who loved me very dearly. We romped and we painted, and we made clay figures together. I know what a brother can be!” and the tears for a moment filled her eyes. She dashed them away, and told Nono to go on with his story.

Nono wanted to say that he had seen a beautiful thing the princess had made, and that was one reason why he felt so acquainted with her, but he wisely kept to Decima and what he wanted for her.

When the princess heard of Decima’s misfortune, and of the big room where all the family lived, the boys always leaving the door open to blow on the little patient, her heart was quite melted, as it had been many times before, as she compared her own comfort with the surroundings of the sick poor. She herself had been long an invalid, and often for months a prisoner in her beautiful rooms. She put out her arm towards Nono, who had drawn near to her in his eagerness, and was now close at her side. Affectionately her white slender hand was laid on the boy’s, as she said,

“Yes, Nono, your little Decima shall have a place in my home for sick children. I will have the permit made out at once, and she can come as soon as ‘Mother Karin’ can send her.”

The princess spoke aside to the fair lady, who began to write the few words that were necessary, but stopped to ask Nono the full name of the patient.

“Decima Desideria Persson,” was the prompt reply.

“Desideria!” said the princess, with a pleasant smile. “That was my grandmother’s name, so the little girl half belongs to me to take care of.”

“We don’t call her Desideria,” said Nono truthfully. “She had that name because it stands in the almanac, and seemed to sound well with Decima, Mother Karin thought; and besides, she wanted the only little girl to have a name-day to keep as well as the boys.”.

Again the pleasant smile came into the face of the princess. She wrote in a free and flowing hand her signature to the permit, which was duly placed in an envelope and given to Nono.

“Since Decima Desideria is to be my guest, I must pay for her journey,” said the princess.

Nono received the generous gift, and dared to kiss the hand that gave it. He was too full of joy and gratitude to express himself fully by his murmured thanks.

“I understand you, Nono,” said the princess. “You can go now. Perhaps we shall meet again, some day; perhaps up there, if we both love the dear Lord and try to be his true children.” The thin hand made a sweep upwards towards heaven, whither Nono, child as he was, felt that his princess was going, all too soon for the mourning hearts she would leave behind her.

So ended Nono’s visit to the royal palace. The princess sank wearily back in her chair when the fair lady had gone out with Nono. On her mild face there was a shadow that betokened something more than weariness. That little boy she had trusted so implicitly while she looked into his clear eyes, what if he should prove an impostor? She had had her own bitter experience from the falsehoods of the apparently needy. “No! Nono is not an impostor, I am sure,” she said to herself. “Little Decima, no doubt, ought to be taken care of immediately.” A slight smile came over her thoughtful face as she recalled the unusual name.

The dignified old servant now brought in the letters from the morning mails. The first that the princess opened was in an unfamiliar hand. A cloud of sadness came over her, as a friend long in heaven was recalled to her mind. The colonel had written, not to renew the sorrow of the princess by reminding her of his lovely wife, but to say that he had accidentally heard of Nono’s departure, without credentials or recommendations of any kind to insure her confidence. The letter guaranteed the truthfulness and honesty of the boy, and contained warm words in favour of the family at the golden house.

The good princess was glad to be acquitted of rashness in her promise, and was once more encouraged to love and to trust, and to give freely out of her abundance.

Little Nono had started cheerily on his homeward journey, grateful at heart. He was hopeful as to finding Blackie at the house where he had been assured his pet would be awaiting his return from the palace. Nono was met there by rude answers to his eager inquiries, and was told that no one had seen anything of a little black pig, nor did any one on those premises wish to see anything more of a little dark boy full of impudent questions. There was a sweep of meadows about the house, and no other dwelling was near the spot.

Nono could but disconsolately begin again his homeward walk, and try to forget his pet in the thought of the future opening before little Decima. He betook himself to the highroad, and trudged along as cheerily as he could. Drops of blood on the snow suddenly arrested his attention. They formed a regular line leading into the far distance, where a familiar black object was getting over the ground at a marvellous rate. It must be Blackie! Nono gave a long whistle by which he was accustomed to call his four-footed friend. The black object stopped. The whistle was repeated, and in a few moments the little pig was awkwardly capering about his master, almost tying his tail into knots, as it was twisted round and round as an expression of delight.

Blackie had evidently escaped from confinement and uncongenial society. Where he had been, of course he could not tell. His poor nose was sadly torn where the ring had been wrenched away as he broke loose from his imprisonment. Nono was glad that Blackie had lost his badge of servitude; and as to needing a rope to be led by, the poor creature was willing enough to follow Nono wherever he might choose to lead him. A kind countryman returning from the city with an empty waggon gave the odd pair a good lift, and took them along so rapidly that towards evening they reached the shoemaker’s cottage. Nono thought best to be set down there, and he was hardly on the ground with Blackie beside him when there was an impromptu concert of singing and scolding that brought the inmates of the house at once to the door.

Of course the travellers were warmly welcomed. There was great eagerness to hear Nono’s adventures, and he was at once besieged with all sorts of questions. When he had told his story, the shoemaker got up and bowed respectfully to the absent princess, whom Nono had so vividly described that she seemed actually standing there in the cottage. “There be some good people left in high places!” exclaimed honest Crispin. “It’s of no use talking against the royal family while such a princess is above ground.” So some dim socialistic ideas that had been troubling the mind of the poor shoemaker died a violent death, and the warm loyalty of his youth took the upper hand.

Nono and Blackie were hospitably housed for the night, and treated almost as if they were ambassadors from court, with a flavour of royalty about them.

It is needless to tell with what joy the travellers were received the next day at the golden house, or what rapid preparations were made for Decima’s departure. The princess should see that Jan and Karin were prompt to avail themselves of her kindness.

Jan took an unusual holiday, and actually was for the first time in a railroad car, with Decima cuddled close at his side.

Decima Desideria, who had a keen sense of her own fitness to come to honour, really seemed to think the children’s hospital had been established for her special benefit, and that her presence there, and the ado that had been made about her, were quite natural matters, with which gratitude had very little connection. Once made mistress of one of the little white beds, and surrounded by every comfort, her arrogance and her exactions would probably have known no bounds, if she had not wonderingly seen about her from day to day deformed children, suffering children, and almost idiots, as tenderly cared for as herself. It somehow came into her head to be thankful that she at least had but to lie in her bed, without great pain, that she could understand all that was said to her, and could even be learning to knit and crochet, which she was doing with extreme satisfaction.

How Decima longed to see the good princess! When at last that much-talked-of princess came and stood by her bed, and beamed down love and tenderness, the little invalid was softened into real gratitude, which she managed brokenly to express, with tears in her eyes. Then the kind princess talked to her cheerfully and naturally of the great Shepherd of the lambs, as of some one whom she knew and who was really dear to her.

At the golden house religion had been lived and inculcated; at the hospital it seemed the felt, ever-pervading atmosphere. Heavenly comfort was sung in the sweet hymns, breathed in the trustful prayers, spoken of as something always in mind, and acted out in the sweet offices of love towards the unfortunate. Such surroundings were life-giving to the poor little invalid. Her fretfulness gave way, and a sweet quietness succeeded her nervous irritation. After the weary turmoil of the past in the noisy, crowded home, there was now a serene peace for her, as if the angels had taken her under their sheltering wings.