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Puss, in her white boots, sat aloft and looked on, wise as the cat in the story, but offered no advice. The toad who lived behind the water-barrel hopped under the few leaves of the struggling bean, like Jack waiting to climb; and just then the noon bells began to ring as if they sang clear and loud,–

“Turn again, Whittington, Lord Mayor of London.”

So, cheered by his friends, Johnny scraped and dug vigorously till the old brick fell out, showing another behind it. Only pausing to take breath, he caught up his crutch and gave two or three hearty pokes, which soon cleared the way and let the sunshine stream through, while the wind tossed the lilacs like triumphal banners, and the jolly sparrows chirped,–

“Hail, the conquering hero comes!”

Rather scared by his unexpected success, the boy sat silent for a moment to see what would happen. But all was still; and presently, with a beating heart, Johnny leaned forward to enjoy the long-desired “peek.” He could not see much; but that little increased his curiosity and delight, for it seemed like looking into fairy-land, after the dust and noise and dingy houses of the court.

A bed of splendid tulips tossed their gay garments in the middle of a grass-plot; a strange and brilliant bird sat dressing its feathers on a golden cage; a little white dog dozed in the sun; and on a red carpet under the trees lay the Princess, fast asleep.

“It’s all right,” said Johnny, with a long sigh of pleasure; “that’s the Sleeping Beauty, sure enough. There’s the blue gown, the white fur-cloak sweeping round, the pretty hair, and–yes–there’s the old nurse, spinning and nodding, just as she did in the picture-book mother got me when I cried because I couldn’t go to see the play.”

This last discovery really did bewilder Johnny, and make him believe that fairy tales might be true, after all, for how could he know that the strange woman was an Italian servant, in her native dress, with a distaff in her hand? After pausing a moment, to rub his eyes, he took another look, and made fresh discoveries by twisting his head about. A basket of oranges stood near the Princess, a striped curtain hung from a limb of the tree to keep the wind off, and several books fluttered their pictured leaves temptingly before Johnny’s longing eyes.

“Oh, if I could only go in and eat ’em and read ’em and speak to ’em and see all the splendid things!” thought the poor boy, as he looked from one delight to another, and felt shut out from all. “I can’t go and wake her like the Prince did, but I do wish she’d get up and do something, now I can see. I daren’t throw a stone, it might hit some one, or holler, it might scare her. Pussy won’t help, and the sparrows are too busy scolding one another. I know! I’ll fly a kite over, and that will please her any way. Don’t believe she has kites; girls never do.”

Eager to carry out his plan, Johnny tied a long string to his gayest poster, and then fastening it to the pole with which he sometimes fished in the water-cask, held it up to catch the fresh breezes blowing down the court. His good friend, the wind, soon caught the idea, and with a strong breath sent the red paper whisking over the wall, to hang a moment on the trees and then drop among the tulips, where its frantic struggles to escape waked the dog, and set him to racing and barking, as Johnny hurriedly let the string go, and put his eye to his peep-hole.

The eyes of the Princess were wide open now, and she clapped her hands when Pippo brought the gay picture for her to see; while the old woman, with a long yawn, went away, carrying her distaff, like a gun, over her shoulder.