“At sunrise the doors and gates were opened, and every body was awake and stirring, from the queen in her palace to the servants who brought in the meals and kept things tidy about the houses; and then, in accordance with a good old custom handed down from generation to generation, the first thing every body did on getting out of bed was to take a bath.  Such a washing and scrubbing and sponging off and rubbing down as went on in every house, you can imagine.  It made no difference what kind of work one was going about,—­plastering, brick-laying, or digging of ditches,—­like a sensible fellow, he went fresh and clean to it every day.

“Of course the queen-mother and the little princes and princesses, with a palace full of servants to wait on them, had all these offices of the toilet performed for them; but what do you think of common working folks going about from house to house to help each other wash up for the day?  Fancy having a neighbor step in bright and early to wash your face and hands for you, or give you a sponge-bath, or a nice dry rub!

“After the wash came milking-time.  Now, all the cows were pastured outside the city, and the servants who had the care of them hurried off as fast as they could, because the milk was needed for breakfast, especially for the babies.  A beautiful road led to the milking-ground, broad and level, and so clean and well kept that not a stick or stone or rut or mud-hole was to be found in it from beginning to end.  And this was true of all the streets and avenues, lanes and alleys, about the city.

“I don’t know how they managed to keep them in such good condition—­whether they appointed street commissioners or a committee on highways; but I wish those who have the care of the roads in Greenmeadow would take a lesson from them, so that two little girls I know needn’t be kept from church so many Sundays in the spring because the mud is deep at the crossings.

“But I must tell you about the cows.  There were a great many of them quietly feeding in their pleasant pasture, and they were of several different kinds.  I don’t know by what names their masters called them, but I do know these gentle creatures were to them just what the pretty Alderneys and Durhams are to us, and that they were treated with all the kindness and consideration the wise farmer gives to his domestic animals.  There was one kind, a little white cow with queer crooked horns and quite blind.  These they made pets of, not putting them out to pasture with the rest of the herd, but allowing them to walk the streets and go in and out of the houses at their pleasure, treating them much as we treat our cats and dogs.

“While the milking was going on, every cow was stroked and patted and gently caressed, and the good little creatures responded to this treatment by giving down their milk without a kick or a single toss of the horns.  Such nice milk as it was—­as sweet and as rich as honey! and the babies who fed on it got as fat as little pigs.