“Never mind,” said they; “we still have the apple of contentment at home, though we cannot taste of it.” But no; they had nothing of the kind. The next morning it stood before the young Queen Christine’s window, just as it had at her old home, for it belonged to her and to no one else in all of the world. That was lucky for the King, for he needed a taste of it now and then as much as anybody else, and no one could pluck it for him but Christine.
Now, that is all of this story. What does it
mean? Can you not see? Prut! rub
your spectacles and look again!