And the pitcher went on with her tale, and the end proved as good as the beginning.

All the plates clattered applause, and the hair-broom took some green parsley out of the sand-hole and crowned the pitcher, for he knew that this would vex the others; and, thought he, 'If I crown her to-day, she will crown me tomorrow.'

BUT LET IT MAKE US LAUGH, SAID THE KING

'Now I will dance,' said the fire-tongs, and accordingly she did dance, and oh! it was wonderful to see how high she threw one of her legs up into the air; the old chair-cover in the corner tore with horror at seeing her. 'Am not I to be crowned too?' asked the tongs, and she was crowned forthwith.

'These are the vulgar rabble!' thought the matches.

The tea-urn was now called upon to sing, but she had a cold; she said she could only sing when she was boiling; however, this was all her pride and affectation. The fact was she never cared to sing except when she was standing on the parlour-table before company.

On the window-ledge lay an old quill-pen, with which the maids used to write; there was nothing remarkable about her, except that she had been dipped too low in the ink; however, she was proud of that. 'If the tea-urn does not choose to sing,' quoth she, 'she may let it alone; there is a nightingale