It
had no ornamentation, being exceedingly plain in appearance. No
banners floated from it; no flowers grew near it.
"Here," said one of their guides as the procession halted before the
little stone building, "is the palace of Tourmaline, who is our
Queen."
"What, that little cabin?" exclaimed Trot.
"Of course. Did you suppose a palace would be like one of our
handsome residences?" asked the woman, evidently surprised.
"I thought it would be better," said the girl. "All the palaces I've
seen were splendid."
"A splendid palace!" exclaimed one of the Pinkies, and then they
looked at one another in amazement and seemed to doubt that their
ears had heard aright.
"These intruders are very peculiar people," remarked a man in the
crowd.
"They seem very ignorant, poor things!" said another in reply.
"Come!" commanded the woman who led the party. "You three must
follow me to the presence of Tourmaline. The people must wait
outside, for there is no room for them in the palace."
So they followed her through the low archway, and in a room beyond,
very simply furnished, sat a young girl engaged in darning a pair of
pink stockings. She was a beautiful girl of about seventeen years of
age, not fat like all the rest of the Pinkies but slender and well
formed according to our own ideas of beauty. Her complexion was not
a decided pink, but a soft, rosy tint not much deeper than that of
Trot's skin.
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