It was all over. Phronsie had been swept off, a vision of loveliness, to the cave; the dragons had roared their loudest, and the gallant knight had covered himself with glory in the brilliant rescue of the Princess; the little page had won the hearts of all the ladies; Mr. King had applauded himself hoarse, especially during the delivery of the prologue, when "I cry you mercy, sirs, and ladies fair," rang out; the musical efforts of Polly and Jasper in the "Wait" between the two acts were over, and the crowded house, in every way possible, had expressed itself delighted with all things from beginning to end.
"Phronsie, Phronsie, they're calling you," whispered Polly excitedly, out in the green room.
"Come, Princess." The head dragon held out his hand. "Hurry dear! See the flowers!"
"They can't be for me," said Phronsie, standing quite still; "Polly has done all the work; they're hers."
"Nonsense, child!" cried Polly, giving her a gentle push forward. "Go on, and take them."
"Polly, you come too," begged Phronsie, refusing to stir, and holding her by the gown.

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