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“And what did you see?” “Good afternoon, Aunt Grenertsen. How do you do?” He sat down in the chair by the door, where he knew he was expected to sit. Old Rolfsen reached out a gnarled, rough hand to Johnny and all the rest of the workmen came, one by one, and shook hands with him. It was queer, but it was pleasant, too, for he knew them all and he smiled at them as they greeted him. Lars Berget gripped his hand so hard that it really hurt. And just think! Even Carlstrom came and made a beautiful bow (My! how stiff his moustache ends were today!), and to crown all, Miss Melling pressed forward and actually courtesied! At this Johnny Blossom was so astounded that he had to look over at his mother..

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“Then I presume you ate more of them than was good for you.” Meanwhile the Queen was continually thinking by what means she could escape. She confided her longing to the Frog, who said to her, "Madam, allow me first to consult my little cap, and we will then arrange matters according to its advice." She took her cap, placed it on some straw, and then burned in front of it a few sprigs of juniper, some capers, and two green peas; she then croaked five times, and the ceremony being then completed, she put on her cap again, and began speaking like an oracle. "Fate, the ruler of all things, forbids you to leave this place. You will have a little Princess, more beautiful than Venus herself; do not trouble yourself about anything else, time alone can comfort you." The Queen's head drooped, a few tears fell from her eyes, but she resolved to trust her friend: "At least," she said to her, "do not leave me here alone; and befriend me when my little one is born." The Frog promised to remain with her, and comforted her as best she could. Johnny Blossom blinked his eyes and scarcely knew what to say, but suddenly had an idea. He would begin differently. But while remembering that we shall be none the worse tomorrow for having been happy today, we are not permitted to forget entirely the Blue-devil Sprite that awaits the dawn. The play-spell is over; the lights are out in Vanity Fair; and here in Mr. Dulac's drawing is the leader of our Christmas Chorus as he shuts up the box and the puppets—"for our play is played out.".