Title: The Little Lame Prince - Rewritten for Young Readers by Margaret Waters
Author: Craik, Dinah Maria Mulock, 1826-1887, Waters, Margaret
Language: English
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LITTLE LAME PRINCE.


[Illustration: "I SWEAR TO PERFORM MY DUTIES AS REGENT, AND TO TAKE
CARE OF HIS MAJESTY." [PAGE 11.]]


    THE
    PLEASANT HOUR SERIES


    THE
    LITTLE LAME PRINCE

    _By_ DINAH MARIA MULOCK


    REWRITTEN FOR YOUNG READERS BY
    MARGARET WATERS

    ILLUSTRATED BY
    HUGO VON HOFSTEN


    NEW YORK
    BARSE & HOPKINS
    PUBLISHERS



ILLUSTRATIONS.

                                                                    Page
    I SWEAR TO PERFORM MY DUTIES AS REGENT, AND TO TAKE
    CARE OF HIS MAJESTY                                     Frontispiece

    "I MUST KISS HIM, I AM HIS GOD MOTHER"                            8

    AND TWISTING HIMSELF AROUND, WHAT DO YOU THINK HE SAW?           16

    PRINCE DOLOR MADE A SNATCH AT THE TOPMOST TWIG OF
    THE TALLEST TREE                                                 24

    THE PRINCE GAZED EARNESTLY DOWN INTO THE LARGEST
    ROOM HE HAD EVER BEHELD                                          32

    HE LIFTED UP HIS THIN, SLENDER HAND, AND THERE CAME
    A SILENCE OVER THE VAST CROWD IMMEDIATELY                        40



THE LITTLE LAME PRINCE

CHAPTER I.


He was the most beautiful prince that ever was born.

Being a prince, people said this; and it was true. When he looked at the
candle, his eyes had an earnest expression quite startling in a new-born
baby. His nose was aquiline; his complexion was healthy; he was round,
fat, and straight-limbed--a splendid baby.

His father and mother, King and Queen of Nomansland, and their subjects
were proud and happy, having waited ten years for an heir. The only
person not quite happy was the king's brother, who would have been king
had the baby not been born, but his Majesty was very kind to him, and
gave him a Dukedom as large as a country.

The Prince's christening was to be a grand affair; there were chosen for
him four and twenty godfathers and godmothers, who each had to give him
a name, and promise to do their utmost for him. When he came of age, he
himself had to choose the name--and the godfather or godmother--that he
liked best.

All was rejoicing and the rich gave dinners and feasts for the poor.

The only quiet place in the Palace was the room, which though the prince
was six weeks old, his mother, the Queen, had not quitted. Nobody
thought she was ill as she said nothing about it herself, but lay pale
and placid, giving no trouble to anybody.

Christening day came at last and it was as lovely as the Prince himself.
All the people in the Palace were beautifully dressed in the clothes
which the Queen had given them.

By six in the morning all the royal household had dressed itself in its
very best; and then the little Prince was dressed in his magnificent
christening robe; which he did not like at all, but kicked and screamed
like any common baby. When he had calmed down, they carried him to the
bed where the Queen lay.

She kissed and blessed him, and then she gave him up with a gentle
smile, saying she "hoped he would be very good, that it would be a very
nice christening, and all the guests would enjoy themselves," and turned
peacefully over on her bed. She was a very uncomplaining person--the
Queen, and her name was Dolorez.

Everything went on as if she had been present. All, even the King
himself, had grown used to her absence, for she was not strong, and for
years had not joined in the gaieties. The noble company arrived from
many countries; also the four-and-twenty godfathers and godmothers, who
had been chosen with care, as the people who would be most useful to his
Royal Highness should he ever want friends.

They came, walking two and two, with their coronets on their
heads--dukes and duchesses, princes and princesses; they all kissed the
child and pronounced the name which each had given him. Then the
four-and-twenty names were shouted out, one after another, and written
down, to be kept in the state records.

Everybody was satisfied except the little Prince, who moaned faintly
under his christening robes, which nearly smothered him.

Though very few knew it, the Prince in coming to the chapel had met with
an accident. A young lady of rank, whose duty it was to carry him to and
from the chapel, had been so busy arranging her train with one hand,
that she stumbled and let him fall. She picked him up--the accident was
so slight it seemed hardly worth speaking of. The baby had turned pale,
but did not cry. No one knew that anything was wrong. Even if he had
moaned, the silver trumpets were loud enough to drown his voice. It
would have been a pity to let anything trouble such a day.

Such a procession! Heralds in blue and silver; pages in crimson and
gold; and a troop of little girls in dazzling white, carrying baskets of
flowers, which they strewed all the way before the child and the
nurse,--finally the four and twenty godfathers and godmothers, splendid
to look at.

The prince was a mere heap of lace and muslin, and had it not been for a
canopy of white satin and ostrich feathers, which was held over him
whenever he was carried, his presence would have been unnoticed.

"It is just like fairyland," said one little flower-girl to another,
"and I think the only thing the Prince wants now is a fairy godmother."

"Does he?" said a shrill, but soft and not unpleasant voice, and a
person no larger than a child was seen.

She was a pleasant little, old, grey-haired, grey-eyed woman, dressed
all in grey.

"Take care and don't let the baby fall again."

The grand nurse started, flushing angrily.

"Old woman, you will be kind enough not to say, 'the baby,' but 'the
Prince.' Keep away; his Royal Highness is just going to sleep."

"I must kiss him, I am his godmother."

"You!" cried the elegant lady-nurse.

"You!!" cried all the Court and the heralds began to blow the silver
trumpets, to stop the conversation.

As the procession formed to return, the old woman stood on the topmost
step, and stretched herself on tiptoe by the help of her stick, and gave
the little Prince three kisses.

"Take yourself out of the way," cried the nurse, "or the king shall be
informed immediately."

"The King knows nothing of me," replied the old woman, with an
indifferent air. "My friend in the palace is the King's wife. I know her
Majesty well, and I love her and her child. And since you dropped him on
the marble stairs I choose to take him for my own. I am his godmother,
ready to help him whenever he wants me."

"You help him!" cried the group laughing. The little old woman paid no
attention and her soft grey eyes were fixed on the Prince, who smiled
back at her.

"His Majesty shall hear of this," said a gentleman-in-waiting.

"His Majesty will hear quite enough news in a minute or two," said the
old woman sadly, kissing the little Prince on the forehead. "Be Prince
Dolor, in memory of your mother Dolorez." Everybody started.

"Old woman, you are exceedingly ill-bred," cried a lady-in-waiting.
"Even if you did know, how dared you presume to hint that her most
gracious Majesty is called Dolorez?"

"Was called Dolorez," said the old woman with a tender solemnity.

The first gentleman, called the Gold-stick-in-waiting, raised the stick
to strike her, and all the rest stretched out their hands to seize her;
but the gray mantle melted from between their fingers; and there came a
heavy, muffled sound.

The great bell of the palace--the bell which was only heard on the
death of some of the Royal family, and for as many times as he or
she was years old--began to toll. They listened. Some one counted:
"one-two-three-four"--up to nine and twenty--just the Queen's age.

The Queen, her Majesty, was dead. In the midst of the festivities she
had passed away. When the little prince was carried back to his mother's
room, there was no mother to kiss him.

As for his godmother--the little old woman in grey, nobody knew what
became of her.

[Illustration: "I MUST KISS HIM, I AM HIS GODMOTHER." [PAGE 7.]]



CHAPTER II.


It could not be said that the Prince missed his mother; children of his
age cannot do that; but somehow, after she died everything seemed to go
wrong with him. From a beautiful baby he became pale and sickly, seeming
to have almost ceased growing, especially in his legs, which had been so
fat and strong. But after the day of his christening they withered, and
when he was nearly a year old, and his nurse tried to make him stand, he
only tumbled down.

This happened so many times that at last people began to talk about it.
A prince, and not able to stand on his legs! What a misfortune to the
country!

After a time he became stronger and his body grew, but his limbs
remained shrunken. No one talked of this to the King, for he was very
sad.

The King desired that the Prince should keep the name given him by the
little old woman in grey and so he was known as Dolor.

Once a week, according to established state custom, the Prince, dressed
in his very best, was brought to the King, his father, for half an hour,
but his Majesty was too melancholy to pay much attention to the child.

Only once, when the King and his brother were sitting together, with
Prince Dolor playing in a corner of the room, dragging himself about
with his arms, rather than his legs, it seemed to strike the father that
all was not right with his son.

"How old is his Royal Highness?" said he, suddenly, to the nurse.

"Two years, three months, and five days, please your Majesty."

"It does not please me," said the King with a sigh. "He ought to be far
more forward than he is. Is there not something wrong about him?"

"Oh, no," said the King's brother, exchanging meaning looks with the
nurse. "Nothing to make your Majesty at all uneasy. No doubt his Royal
Highness will outgrow it in time."

"Out-grow what?"

"A slight delicacy--ahem!--in the spine--something inherited, perhaps,
from his dear mother."

"Ah, she was always delicate; but she was the sweetest woman that ever
lived. Come here, my little son."

The Prince turned to his father a small, sweet, grave face--like his
mother's, and the King smiled and held out his arms. But when the boy
came to him, not running like a boy, but wriggling awkwardly along the
floor, the royal countenance clouded.

"I ought to have been told of this. Send for all the doctors in my
kingdom immediately."

They came, and agreed in what had been pretty well known before; that
the prince must have been hurt when he was an infant. Did anybody
remember?

No, nobody. Indignantly, all the nurses denied that any such accident
had happened.

But of all this the King knew nothing, for, indeed, after the first
shock of finding out that his son could not walk, and seemed never
likely to walk, he interfered very little concerning him. He could not
walk; his limbs were mere useless additions to his body, but the body
itself was strong and sound, and his face was the same as ever--just
like his mother's face, one of the sweetest in the world!

Even the King, indifferent as he was, sometimes looked at the little
fellow with sad tenderness, noticing how cleverly he learned to crawl,
and swing himself about by his arms, so that in his own awkward way he
was as active as most children of his age.

"Poor little man! he does his best, and he is not unhappy," said the
King to his brother. "I have appointed you as Regent. In case of my
death, you will take care of my poor little boy?"

Soon after he said this, the King died, as suddenly and quietly as the
Queen had done, and Prince Dolor was left without either father or
mother--as sad a thing as could happen, even to a Prince.

He was more than that now, though. He was a king. In Nomansland as in
other countries, the people were struck with grief one day and revived
the next. "The king is dead--long live the king!" was the cry that rang
through the nation, and almost before his late Majesty had been laid
beside the queen, crowds came thronging from all parts to the royal
palace, eager to see the new monarch.

They did see him--sitting on the floor of the council-chamber, sucking
his thumb! And when one of the gentlemen-in-waiting lifted him up and
carried him to the chair of state, and put the crown on his head, he
shook it off again, it was so heavy and uncomfortable. Sliding down to
the foot of the throne, he began playing with the gold lions that
supported it;--laughing as if he had at last found something to amuse
him.

"It is very unfortunate," said one of the lords. "It is always bad for a
nation when its king is a child; but such a child--a permanent cripple,
if not worse."

"Let us hope not worse," said another lord in a very hopeless tone, and
looking towards the Regent, who stood erect and pretended to hear
nothing. "I have heard that these kind of children with very large heads
and great broad foreheads and staring eyes, are--well, well, let us hope
for the best and be prepared for the worst. In the meantime--"

"Come forth and kiss the hilt of his sword," said the Regent--"I swear
to perform my duties as Regent, to take care of his Majesty, and I shall
do my humble best to govern the country."

Whenever the Regent and his sons appeared, they were received with
shouts--"Long live the Regent!" "Long live the Royal family!"

As for the other child, his Royal Highness Prince Dolor--somehow people
soon ceased to call him his Majesty, which seemed such a ridiculous
title for a poor little fellow, a helpless cripple, with only head and
trunk, and no legs to speak of--he was seen very seldom by anybody.

Sometimes people daring to peer over the high wall of the palace garden
noticed there a pretty little crippled boy with large dreamy, thoughtful
eyes, beneath the grave glance of which wrongdoers felt uneasy, and,
although they did not know it then, the sight of him bearing his
affliction made them better.

If anybody had said that Prince Dolor's uncle was cruel, he would have
said that what he did was for the good of the country.

Therefore he went one day to the council-chamber, informed the ministers
and the country that the young King was in failing health, and that it
would be best to send him for a time to the Beautiful Mountains where
his mother was born.

Soon after he obtained an order to send the King away--which was done in
great state. The nation learned, without much surprise, that the poor
little Prince--had fallen ill on the road and died within a few hours;
so declared the physician in attendance, and the nurse who had been sent
to take care of him. They brought the coffin back in great state, and
buried him with his parents.

The country went into deep mourning for him, and then forgot him, and
his uncle reigned in his stead.



CHAPTER III.


And what of the little lame prince, whom everybody seemed so easily to
have forgotten?

Not everybody. There were a few kind souls, mothers of families, who had
heard his sad story, and some servants about the palace, who had been
familiar with his sweet ways--these many a time sighed and said, "Poor
Prince Dolor!" Or, looking at the Beautiful Mountains, which were
visible all over Nomansland, though few people ever visited them, "Well,
perhaps his Royal Highness is better where he is."

They did not know that beyond the mountains, between them and the sea,
lay a tract of country, level, barren, except for a short stunted grass,
and here and there a patch of tiny flowers. Not a bush--not a tree--not
a resting place for bird or beast in that dreary plain. It was not a
pleasant place to live.

The only sign that human creatures had ever been near the spot was a
large round tower which rose up in the centre of the plain. In form it
resembled the Irish round towers, which have puzzled people for so long,
nobody being able to find out when, or by whom they were made. It was
circular, of very firm brickwork, with neither doors nor windows, until
near the top, when you could perceive some slits in the wall, through
which one could not possibly creep in or look out. Its height was nearly
a hundred feet.

The plain was desolate, like a desert, only without sand, and led to
nowhere except the still more desolate sea-coast; nobody ever crossed
it. Whatever mystery there was about the tower, it and the sky and the
plain kept to themselves.

It was a very great secret indeed, a state secret, which none but so
clever a man as the present king of Nomansland would ever have thought
of. How he carried it out, undiscovered, I cannot tell. People said,
long afterwards, that it was by means of a gang of condemned criminals,
who were set to work, and executed immediately after they had done, so
that nobody knew anything, or in the least suspected the real fact.

Within twenty feet of the top, some ingenious architect had planned a
perfect little house, divided into four rooms. By making skylights, and
a few slits in the walls for windows, and raising a peaked roof which
was hidden by the parapet, here was a dwelling complete; eighty feet
from the ground and hard to reach.

Inside it was furnished with all the comfort and elegance imaginable;
with lots of books and toys, and everything that the heart of a child
could desire.

One winter night, when all the plain was white with moonlight, there was
seen crossing it, a great tall, black horse, ridden by a man also big
and equally black, carrying before him on the saddle a woman and a
child. The sad fierce-looking woman was a criminal under sentence of
death, but her sentence had been changed. She was to inhabit the lonely
tower with the child; she was to live as long as the child lived--no
longer. This, in order that she might take the utmost care of him; for
those who put him there were equally afraid of his dying and of his
living. And yet he was only a little gentle boy, with a sweet smile. He
was very tired with his long journey and was clinging to the man's neck,
for he was rather frightened.

The tired little boy was Prince Dolor. He was not dead at all. His grand
funeral had been a pretence; a wax figure having been put in his place,
while he was spirited away by the condemned woman and the black man. The
latter was deaf and dumb, so could tell nothing.

When they reached the foot of the tower, there was light enough to see
a huge chain dangling half way from the parapet. The deaf mute took from
his saddle-wallet a sort of ladder, arranged in pieces like a puzzle,
fitted it together, and lifted it up to meet the chain. Then he mounted
to the top of the tower, and slung from it a chair, in which the woman
and child placed themselves and were drawn up, never to come down again.
The man descended the ladder, took it to pieces and disappeared across
the plain. Every month he came and fastened his horse to the foot of the
tower and climbed it as before, laden with provisions and many other
things. He always saw the Prince, so as to make sure that the child was
alive and well, and then went away until the following month.

Prince Dolor had every luxury that even a Prince could need, and the one
thing wanting--love, never having known, he did not miss. His nurse was
very kind to him, though she was a wicked woman. Perhaps it made her
better to be shut up with an innocent child.

By-and-by he began to learn lessons--not that his nurse had been ordered
to teach him, but she did it partly to amuse herself. She was not a
stupid woman, and Prince Dolor was by no means a stupid child; so they
got on very well.

When he grew older he began reading the books which the mute brought to
him. As they told him of the things in the outside world he longed to
see them.

From this time a change came over the boy. He began to look sad and
thin, and to shut himself up for hours without speaking. His nurse had
been forbidden, on pain of death, to tell him anything about himself. He
knew he was Prince Dolor, because she always addressed him as "My
prince" and "your Royal Highness," but what a prince was, he had not the
least idea.

He had been reading one day, but feeling all the while that to read
about things which you never can see is like hearing about a beautiful
dinner while you are starving. He grew melancholy, gazing out of the
window-slit.

Not a very cheerful view--just the plain and the sky--but he liked it.
He used to think, if he could only fly out of that window, up to the sky
or down to the plain, how nice it would be! Perhaps when he died--his
nurse had told him once in anger that he would never leave the tower
till he died--he might be able to do this.

"And I wish I had somebody to tell me all about it; about that and many
other things; somebody that would be fond of me, like my poor white
kitten."

Here the tears came into his eyes, for the boy's one friend had been a
little white kitten, which the deaf mute, kindly smiling, once took out
of his pocket and gave him. For four weeks it was his constant companion
and plaything, till one moonlight night it took a fancy for wandering,
climbed on to the parapet of the tower, dropped over and disappeared. It
was not killed, he hoped; indeed, he almost fancied he saw it pick
itself up and scamper away, but he never caught sight of it again.

"Yes, I wish I had a person, a real live person, who would be fond of me
and kind to me. Oh, I want somebody--dreadfully, dreadfully!"

As he spoke, there sounded behind him a slight tap-tap-tap, as of a
cane, and twisting himself around, what do you think he saw? A curious
little woman, no bigger than he might himself have been, had his legs
grown, but she was not a child--she was an old woman with a sweet smile
and a soft voice, and was carrying a cane.

"My own little boy," she said, "I could not come to you until you had
said you wanted me, but now you do want me, here I am."

"And you are very welcome, madam," replied the Prince. "May I ask you
who you are? Perhaps my mother?"

[Illustration: AND TWISTING HIMSELF AROUND, WHAT DO YOU THINK HE SAW?
[PAGE 16.]]

"No, I am not your mother, though she was a dear friend of mine."

"Will you tell her to come and see me then?"

"She cannot; but I daresay she knows all about you and loves you. I love
you, too, and I want to help you, my poor little boy."

"Why do you call me poor?" asked Prince Dolor in surprise.

The little old woman sighed and glanced down at his legs and feet, which
he did not know were different from those of other children, and then to
his sweet, bright face.

"I beg your pardon, My Prince," said she.

"Yes, I am a prince, and my name is Dolor; will you tell me yours,
madam?"

The little old woman laughed like a chime of silver bells.

"I have so many that I don't know which to choose. It was I who gave you
yours, and you will belong to me all your days. I am your godmother."

"Hurrah!" cried the little prince; "I am glad I belong to you, for I
like you very much."

So they sat down and played and talked together.

"Are you very lonesome here?" asked the little old woman.

"Not particularly, thank you, godmother. I have my lessons to do, and my
books to read."

"And you want for nothing?"

"Nothing. Yes, godmother, please bring me a little boy to play with?"

"Just the thing, alas, which I cannot give you."

His godmother took him in her arms and kissed him. By-and-by he kissed
her at first awkwardly and shyly, then with all the strength of his warm
little heart.

"Promise me that you will never go away, godmother."

"I must, but I will leave you a travelling cloak that will take you
wherever you want to go, and show you all that you wish to see."

"I don't need a cloak, for I never go out."

"Hush! the nurse is coming."

A grumpy voice and a rattle of plates and dishes was heard.

"It's my nurse, bringing my dinner; but I don't want dinner. I only want
you. Will her coming drive you away, godmother?"

"Only for a while, only wish for me and I will return."

When the door opened, Prince Dolor shut his eyes; opening them again,
nobody but his nurse was in the room, as his godmother had melted away.

"Such a heap of untidy books; and what's this rubbish?" said she,
kicking a little bundle that lay beside them.

"Give it to me," cried the Prince; and reaching after it, he hid it
under his pinafore.

It was, though she did not know this, his wonderful travelling-cloak.



CHAPTER IV.


The cloak outside, was the commonest looking bundle imaginable--Dolor
touched it; it grew smaller, and he put it into his trouser's pocket and
kept it there until he had a chance to look at it.

It seemed but a mere piece of cloth, dark green in color, being worn and
shabby, though not dirty.

Prince Dolor examined it curiously; spread it out on the floor, then
arranged it on his shoulders. It felt comfortable; but was the only
shabby thing the Prince had ever seen in his life.

"And what use will it be to me?" said he sadly, "and what in the world
shall I do with it?"

He folded it carefully and put it away in a safe corner of his
toy-cupboard. After a time he nearly forgot the cloak and his godmother.
Sometimes though, he recalled her sweet pleasant face; but as she never
came, she gradually slipped out of his memory, until something happened
which made him remember her, and want her as he had never wanted
anything before.

Prince Dolor fell ill. He caught a complaint common to the people of
Nomansland, called the doldrums, which made him restless, cross and
disagreeable. Even when a little better, he was too weak to enjoy
anything, but lay all day alone.

"I wonder what my godmother meant when she looked at my legs and sighed
so bitterly? Why can't I walk like my nurse. It would be very nice to
move about quickly or fly like a bird. How nice it must be to be a bird.
If legs are no good, why can one not have wings? I am so tired and no
one cares for me, except perhaps my godmother. Godmother, dear, have you
forsaken me?"

He stretched himself wearily, gathered himself up, and dropped his head
upon his hands; as he did so, he felt somebody kiss him on the back of
his neck, and turning, found that he was resting on the warm shoulder of
the little old woman.

How glad he was to see her. He put both his arms around her neck and
kissed her lovingly.

"Stop, stop!" cried she, pretending to be smothered. "Only just let me
have breath to speak one word. Tell me what has happened to you since I
saw you."

"Nothing has happened," answered the Prince somewhat dolefully.

"And are you very unhappy, my boy?"

"So unhappy, that I was just thinking whether I could not jump down to
the bottom of the tower."

"You must be content to stay where you are," said the little old woman,
"for you are a prince, and must behave as such--where is your
traveling-cloak?"

Prince Dolor blushed. "I--I put it away in the cupboard; I suppose it is
there still."

"You have never used it; you dislike it?"

He hesitated, not wishing to be impolite. "Don't you think it's just a
little old and shabby for a prince?"

The old woman laughed very sweetly.

"Why, if all the princes in the world craved for it, they couldn't get
it, unless I gave it to them. Old and shabby! It's the most valuable
thing imaginable! I thought I would give it to you, because--because you
are different from other people."

"Am I?" asked the prince with tears in his eyes.

She touched his poor little legs. "These are not like the legs of other
little boys."

"Indeed!--my nurse never told me that."

"I tell you, because I love you."

"Tell me what, dear godmother?"

"That you will never be able to walk, or run, or jump, but your life
may be a very happy life for all that. Do not be afraid."

"I am not afraid," said the boy, and his lip began to quiver, though he
did not cry.

Though he did not wholly understand, he began to guess what his
godmother meant. He had never seen any real live boys, but he had seen
pictures of them; running and jumping; which he had admired and tried
hard to imitate, but always failed. Now, he began to understand that we
cannot always have things as we want them, but as they are, and that we
must learn to bear them and make the best of them.

She comforted him and whispered in her sweet, strong, cheerful
voice--"Never mind!"

"No, I don't think I do mind, that is, I won't mind."

"That is right, My Prince! Let us put our shoulders to the wheel--"

"We are in Hopeless Tower and there is no wheel to put our shoulders
to," said the child sadly.

"You little matter-of-fact goose! Well for you that you have a godmother
called--'Stuff and Nonsense.'"

"Stuff and Nonsense! What a funny name!"

"Some people give it to me, but they are not my most intimate friends.
You may give me any name you please; but I am your godmother. I have few
godchildren; those I have love me dearly, and find me the greatest
blessing in all the world."

"I can well believe it," cried the little lame Prince.

"Bring the cloak out of the rubbish cupboard, and shake the dust off it,
quick!" said she to Prince Dolor. "Spread it out on the floor, and wait
till the split closes and the edges turn up. Then open the skylight, set
yourself on the cloak, and say, 'Abracadabra, dum dum dum,' and--see
what will happen!"

The Prince burst into a fit of laughing. It all seemed so exceedingly
silly, and his godmother laughed too.

"Believe me or not, it doesn't matter," said she. "Here is the cloak;
when you want to go travelling on it, say, Abracadabra dum dum dum; when
you want to come back again, say, Abracadabra tum tum ti. That's all,
good-bye."

A puff of pleasant air and his godmother was gone.

"How rosy your Royal Highness's cheeks are! You seem to have grown
better," said the nurse entering the room.

"I have," replied the Prince--he felt kindly, even to his grim nurse.
"Let me have my dinner, and you go to your sewing."

The instant she was gone, Prince Dolor sprang from his sofa, and with
one or two of his frog-like jumps, he reached the cupboard where he kept
his toys, and looked everywhere for his traveling-cloak.

Alas! It was not there.

While he was ill, his nurse, had made a grand clearance of all his
"rubbish," all the treasures of his baby days, which he could not bear
to part with. Though he seldom played with them now, he liked just to
feel they were there.

They were all gone! and with them the traveling cloak. He sat down on
the floor, looking at the empty shelves, then burst out sobbing as if
his heart would break.

"And it is all my own fault," he cried. "I ought to have taken better
care of my godmother's gift. Oh, godmother, forgive me! I'll never be so
careless again. I'll never be so careless again. I don't know what the
cloak is exactly, but I am sure it is something precious. Help me to
find it again. Oh, don't let it be stolen from me--don't please."

"Ha, ha, ha!" laughed a silvery voice. "Why, that traveling-cloak is the
one thing in the world which nobody can steal. It is of no use to
anybody except the owner. Open your eyes, and see what you can see."

His dear old godmother, he thought, and turned eagerly round. But no;
he only beheld, lying in a corner of the room, his precious
traveling-cloak.

Prince Dolor darted towards it, tumbling several times on the way.
Snatching it to his breast, he hugged and kissed it. Then he began
unrolling it, wondering each minute what would happen.



CHAPTER V.


No doubt you think Prince Dolor was unhappy. If you had seen him as he
sat patiently untying his wonderful cloak, which was done up in a very
tight parcel, using his deft little hands, and knitting his brows with
determination, while his eyes glistened with pleasure, you might have
changed your opinion.

When Prince Dolor had carefully untied all the knots, the cloak began
to undo itself. Slowly unfolding, it laid itself down on the carpet,
as flat as if it had been ironed; the split joined with a little sharp
crick-crack, and the rim turned up all round till it was breast-high;
for the meantime the cloak had grown and grown, and become quite large
enough for one person to sit in it, as comfortable as if in a boat.

The Prince watched it rather anxiously; it was such an extraordinary
thing. However, he was no coward, but a thorough boy, who, if he had
been like other boys, would doubtless have grown up daring and
adventurous--a soldier--a sailor, or the like. As it was, he could
only show his courage by being afraid of nothing, and by doing boldly
all that was in his power. And I am not sure but that in this way he
showed more real valor than if he had had six pairs of proper legs.

He said to himself, "What a goose I am! As if my dear godmother would
ever have given me anything to hurt me. Here goes!"

So, with one of his active leaps, he sprang right into the middle of the
cloak, where he squatted down, wrapping his arms tight round his knees,
for they shook a little and his heart beat fast. But there he sat,
waiting for what might happen next.

[Illustration: PRINCE DOLOR MADE A SNATCH AT THE TOPMOST TWIG OF THE
TALLEST TREE. [PAGE 32.]]

Nothing did happen, and he began to think nothing would when he
recollected the words. "Abracadabra, dum, dum, dum!"

He repeated them, laughing all the while, they seemed such nonsense.
And then--and then--

The cloak rose, slowly and steadily at first, only a few inches, then
gradually higher and higher, till it nearly touched the skylight. Prince
Dolor's head actually bumped against the glass.

Then he suddenly remembered his godmother's command--"Open the
skylight!"

Without a moment's delay he began searching for the bolt, the cloak
remaining balanced in the air. The minute the window was opened, out it
sailed--right into the clear fresh air, with nothing between it and the
cloudless blue. Prince Dolor had never felt such delicious sensation
before.

The happiness of the Prince cannot be described, when he got out of
Hopeless Tower, and found himself for the first time in the pure open
air, with the sky above him and the earth below.

True, there was nothing but earth and sky; no houses, no trees, no
rivers, mountains, seas--not a beast on the ground, or a bird in the
air. But to him even the level plain looked beautiful; and then there
was the glorious arch of the sky, with a little young moon sitting in
the west like a baby queen. And the evening breeze was so sweet and
fresh, it kissed him like his godmother's kisses; and by-and-by a few
stars came out, first two or three, and then quantities--quantities! so
that when he began to count them, he was utterly bewildered.

By this time, however, the breeze had become cold and as he had, as he
said, no outdoor clothes, poor Prince Dolor began to shiver.

"Perhaps I had better go home," thought he.

But how--for in his excitement the other words which his godmother had
told him to use had slipped his memory, and the cloak only went faster
and faster, skimming on through the dusky, empty air.

The poor little Prince began to feel frightened. What if his wonderful
traveling-cloak should keep on thus traveling, perhaps to the world's
end, carrying with it a poor, tired, hungry boy.

"Dear godmother," he cried pitifully, "do help me! Tell me just this
once and I'll never forget again."

Instantly the words came to him and he repeated them. "Abracadabra, tum,
tum, ti!" The cloak began to turn slowly, and immediately started back,
as fast as ever, in the direction of the tower.

The skylight he found exactly as he had left it, and he slipped in as
easily as he had gotten out. He had scarcely reached the floor when he
heard his nurse's voice outside.

"Bless us! what has become of your Royal Highness all this time? To sit
stupidly here at the window until it is quite dark and leave the
skylight open too. Prince, what can you be thinking of? You are the
silliest boy I ever knew."

But he did not mind what she said.

The instant Prince Dolor got off the cloak it folded itself up into a
tiny parcel and rolled itself into the farthest corner of the room. If
the nurse had seen it she would have taken it for a mere bundle of
rubbish. She brought in the supper and lit the candles, her face as
unhappy as usual. But Prince Dolor only saw, hidden in the corner where
nobody else would see it, his wonderful traveling-cloak. He ate
heartily, scarcely hearing his nurse's grumbling.

"Poor woman!" he thought, "_she_ hasn't a traveling-cloak!"

And when he crept into his little bed, where he lay awake a good while
watching the stars, his chief thought was, "I must be up very early
to-morrow morning and get my lessons done, and then I'll go traveling
all over the world on my beautiful cloak."

So, next day, he opened his eyes with the sun, and went with a good
heart to his lessons, which for the first time he found dull, and the
instant they were over he crept across the floor, undid the shabby
little bundle, climbed on a chair, and thence to the table so as to
unbar the skylight; said his magic charm, and was away out of the window
in a minute.

He was accustomed to sit so quietly always, that his nurse, though only
in the next room did not miss him, and she could not have missed him
anyway for the clever godmother made an image, which she set on the
window-sill reading and which looked so like Prince Dolor that any
common observer would never have guessed the difference.

And all this while the happy little fellow was away floating in the air
on his magic cloak, and seeing all sorts of wonderful things--or they
seemed wonderful to him, who had hitherto seen nothing at all.

First, there were the flowers that grew on the plain, which, whenever
the cloak came near enough, he strained his eyes to look at; they were
tiny, but very beautiful.

"I wonder," he thought, "whether I could see better through a pair of
glasses like those my nurse reads with, and takes such care of. How I
should take care of them too! if only I had a pair!"

Immediately he felt a pair of the prettiest gold spectacles ever seen;
and looking downwards, he found that, though ever so high above the
ground, he could see every blade of grass, every tiny bud and
flower--nay, even the insects that walked over them.

"Thank you, thank you!" he cried to his dear godmother, whom he felt
sure had sent them. He amused himself for ever so long, gazing down upon
the grass, every square foot of which was a mine of wonders.

Then, just to rest his eyes, he turned them up to the sky, at which he
had looked so often and seen nothing.

Now he saw a long, black wavy line, moving on in the distance. Looking
at it through his spectacles, he discovered that it was a long string of
birds, flying one after the other, their wings moving steadily and their
heads pointed in one direction, as steadily as if each were a little
ship.

"They must be the passage-birds flying seaward!" cried the boy, who had
read a little about them. "Oh! how I should like to see them quite
close, and to know where they come from, and where they are going!"

The cloak gave a sudden bound forward, and he found himself high up in
the air, in the very midst of the birds.

"Oh I wish I were going with you, you lovely creatures!" cried the boy.
"I'm getting so tired of this dull plain, and the dreary and lonely
tower. I do so want to see the world! Pretty swallows, dear swallows,
tell me what it looks like--the beautiful, wonderful world!"

But the birds flew past and the boy looked after them with envy. Then he
settled himself down in the centre of the cloak, feeling quite sad and
lonely.

"I think I'll go home," said he, and repeated his "Abracadabra, tum tum,
ti!" with a rather heavy heart. The more he had, the more he wanted.

He did not like to vex his godmother by calling for her, and telling her
how unhappy he was, in spite of all her goodness; so he just kept his
trouble to himself, went back to his lonely tower, and spent three days
there without attempting another journey on his traveling-cloak.



CHAPTER VI.


The fourth day it happened that the deaf mute paid his accustomed visit,
after which Prince Dolor's spirits rose. They always did, when he got
the new books, which the King of Nomansland regularly sent to his
nephew. He paid no attention to the toys which were brought, as he
considered himself a big boy.

Prince Dolor leaned over and looked at the mute's horse which was
feeding at the foot of the tower and thought how grand it must be to get
upon its back and ride away.

"Suppose I was a knight," he said to himself; "then I should be obliged
to ride out and see the world."

But he kept all these thoughts to himself, and just sat still, devouring
his new books until he had come to end of them all.

"I wonder," he would sometimes think,--"I wonder what it feels like to
be on the back of a horse, galloping away, or holding the reins in a
carriage, and tearing across the country, or jumping a ditch, or running
a race, such as I read of or see in pictures. What a lot of things there
are that I should like to do! But first, I should like to go and see the
world. I'll try."

Apparently it was his godmother's plan always to let him try, and try
hard, before he gained anything. This day the knots that tied up his
traveling-cloak were more than usually troublesome, and it was a full
half hour before he got out into the open air, and found himself
floating merrily over the top of the tower.

Hitherto, in all his journeys he had never let himself go out of sight
of home, but now he felt sick of the very look of his tower with its
round smooth walls.

"Off we go!" cried he, when the cloak stirred itself with a slight slow
motion, as if waiting his orders. "Anywhere--anywhere, so that I am away
from here, and out into the world."

As he spoke, the cloak bounded forward and went skimming through the
air, faster than the very fastest railway train.

"Gee-up, gee-up!" cried Prince Dolor in great excitement. "This is as
good as riding a horse," and tossed his head back to meet the fresh
breeze, and pulled his coat-collar up and his hat down, as he felt the
wind grow keener and colder, colder than anything he had ever known.

"What does it matter, though?" said he. "I'm a boy, and boys ought not
to mind anything."

Still, by-and-by he began to shiver, and, as he had come away without
his dinner, grew frightfully hungry. The sunshine changed to rain, and
he got soaked through and through in a very few minutes.

"Shall I turn back?" meditated he. "Suppose I say, 'Abracadabra?'"

Here he stopped, for already the cloak gave a lurch as if it were
expecting to be sent home.

"No--I can't go back! I must go forward and see the world, but oh! if I
had but the shabbiest old rug to shelter me from the rain, or the driest
morsel of bread and cheese, just to keep me from starving! Still, I
don't much mind, I'm a prince and ought to be able to stand anything.
Hold on, cloak, we'll make the best of it."

No sooner had he said this than he felt stealing over his knees
something warm and soft; in fact, a most beautiful bearskin, which
folded itself round him and cuddled him up as closely as if he had been
the cub of the kind old mother-bear that once owned it. Then feeling in
his pocket, which suddenly stuck out in a marvelous way, he found, not
exactly bread and cheese, nor even sandwiches, but a packet of the most
delicious food he had ever tasted. He ate his dinner until he grew so
thirsty he did not know what to do.

"Couldn't I have just one drop of water, if it wouldn't trouble you too
much, kindest of godmothers?"

He considered this a difficult request to grant for he was so far from
the ground that he could not expect to find a well. He forgot one
thing--the rain. While he spoke, it came on in another wild burst, as if
the clouds had poured themselves out in a passion of crying, wetting him
certainly, but leaving behind in a large glass vessel which he had never
noticed before, enough water to quench the thirst of two or three boys
at least. And it was so fresh, so pure--as water from the clouds always
is, that he drank it with the greatest delight.

Also, as soon as it was empty, the rain filled it again, so that he was
able to wash his face and hands. Then the sun came out and dried him in
no time. After that he curled himself up under the bearskin rug and shut
his eyes just for one minute. The next minute he was sound asleep.

When he awoke, he found himself floating over a country quite unlike
anything he had ever seen before.

Yet it was nothing but what most of you children see every day and never
notice--a pretty country landscape. It had nothing in it grand or
lovely--was simply pretty, nothing more; yet to Prince Dolor who had
never seen beyond the level plain, it appeared wonderful.

First, there was a river, which came tumbling down the hillside.

"It is so active, so alive! I like things active and alive!" cried he,
and watched it shimmering and dancing, whirling and leaping.

All this the boy saw, either with his own naked eye, or through his gold
spectacles. He saw also as in a picture, beautiful but silent, many
other things which struck him with wonder, especially a grove of trees.

Only think, to have lived to his age and never have seen trees! As he
floated over these oaks, they seemed to him the most curious sight
imaginable.

"If I could only get nearer, so as to touch them," said he, and
immediately the obedient cloak ducked down; Prince Dolor made a snatch
at the topmost twig of the tallest tree, and caught a bunch of leaves in
his hand. Just a bunch of green leaves--such as we have seen many times,
yet how wonderful they were to him, and he examined the leaves with the
greatest curiosity, and also a little caterpillar that he found walking
over one of them. He coaxed it to take a walk over his finger. It amused
him for a long time; and when a sudden gust of wind blew it overboard,
leaves and all, he felt quite disconsolate.

"Still there must be many live creatures in the world besides
caterpillars. I should like to see a few of them."

The cloak gave a little slip down, as if to say, "All right, My Prince,"
and bore him across the oak forest to a long fertile valley. It was made
up of cornfields, pasture fields, brooks, and ponds, and in it were a
quantity of living creatures, wild and tame. Cows, horses, lambs and
sheep fed in the meadows, pigs and fowls walked about the barnyards. In
lonelier places were rabbits, wild birds inhabited the fields and woods.

Through his wonderful spectacles the Prince could see everything, but he
was too high up to hear anything except a faint murmur, which only
aroused his anxiety to hear more.

"I wonder if my godmother would give me a second pair of ears?" he said.

Scarcely had he spoken, than he found lying on his lap the most curious
little parcel, all done up in silver paper. And it contained a pair of
silver ears, which, when he tried them on, fitted so exactly over his
own, that he hardly felt them, except for the difference they made in
his hearing.

[Illustration: THE PRINCE GAZED EAGERLY DOWN INTO THE LARGEST ROOM HE
HAD EVER BEHELD. [PAGE 40.]]

The sound which greeted his ears is one which we have heard many times,
but Prince Dolor, who had lived all his days in the dead silence of
Hopeless Tower, heard it for the first time. And oh! If you had seen his
face.

He listened, and listened, and looked and looked. The motion of the
animals delighted him; cows walking, horses galloping, little lambs and
calves running races across the meadows, were a great treat for him to
watch.

"Godmother," he said, having now begun to believe that, whether he saw
her or not, she could hear him--"Godmother, I should like better to see
a creature like myself. Couldn't you show me just one little boy?"

Suddenly, a shrill whistle startled him, even through his silver ears,
and looking downwards, he saw start up from behind a bush on a common,
something--

Neither a sheep, nor a horse, nor a cow--nothing upon four legs. This
creature had only two; but they were long, straight and strong. And it
had a lithe active body, and a curly head of black hair. It was a boy
about the Prince's own age--but, oh! so different. His face was almost
as red as his hands, and his shaggy hair was matted like the backs of
the sheep he was tending. But he was a rather nice-looking lad; and
seemed so bright and healthy and "jolly," that the little Prince watched
him with great admiration.

"Might he come and play with me? I would drop down to the ground to him,
or fetch him up to me."

But the cloak, usually so obedient, disobeyed him now. There was
evidently some things which his godmother could or would not give. The
cloak hung high in air, never attempting to descend. The shepherd lad
took it for a large bird, and shading his eyes, looked up at it, then
turned round and stretched himself, for he had been half asleep, and his
dog had been guarding the sheep.

The boy called to the dog and they started off together for a race
across the fields. Prince Dolor watched them with great excitement, for
a while, then the sweet, pale face grew a trifle paler, the lips began
to quiver and the eyes to fill.

"How nice it must be to run like that!" he said softly, thinking that
never--no, never in this world--would he be able to do the same.

"I think I had rather not look at him again," said the poor little
Prince, drawing himself back into the centre of his cloak, and resuming
his favorite posture, sitting like a Turk, with his arms wrapped around
his feeble useless legs.

"You're no good to me," he said, patting them mournfully. "You never
will be any good to me. I wonder why I have you at all; I wonder why I
was born at all, since I was not to grow up like other little boys."

Prince Dolor sat a good while thus, and seemed to grow years older in a
few minutes.

Then he fancied the cloak began to rock gently to and fro, with a
soothing kind of motion, as if he were in somebody's arms; somebody who
did not speak, but loved and comforted him without need of words.

He had placed himself so he could see nothing but the sky, and had taken
off his silver ears, as well as his gold spectacles--what was the use of
either when he had no legs to walk or run?--Up from below there rose a
delicious sound.

You have heard it hundreds of times, my children, and so have I. When I
was a child I thought there was nothing so sweet; and I think so still.
It was just the song of a lark, mounting higher and higher, until it
came so close that Prince Dolor could distinguish its quivering wings
and tiny body, almost too tiny to contain such a gush of music.

"Oh, you beautiful, beautiful bird!" cried he; "I should dearly like to
take you in and cuddle you. That is, if I might--if I dared."

He was so absorbed that he forget all regret and pain, forgot everything
in the world except the little lark, and he was just wondering if it
would soar out of sight, when it suddenly closed its wings, as larks do
when they mean to drop to the ground. But, instead of dropping to the
ground, it dropped right into the little boy's breast.

When he came in sight of Hopeless Tower, a painful thought struck him.

"My pretty bird, what am I to do with you? If I take you into my room
and shut you up there, you will surely die for I heard my nurse once say
that the nicest thing she ever ate in her life was lark pie!"

The little boy shivered all over at the thought, and in another minute
he had made up his mind.

"No, my bird, nothing so dreadful shall happen to you if I can help it;
I would rather do without you altogether. Fly away, my darling! Good-bye
my merry, merry bird."

Opening his two caressing hands, in which, as for protection, he had
folded it, he let the lark go. It lingered a minute, perched on the rim
of the cloak, and looked at him with eyes of almost human tenderness;
then away it flew.

But, sometime after, when Prince Dolor had eaten his supper, and gone to
bed, suddenly he heard outside the window a little faint carol--faint
but cheerful--even though it was the middle of the night.

The dear little lark, it had not flown away after all, but had remained
about the tower and he listened to its singing and went to sleep very
happy.



CHAPTER VII.


After this journey which had given the Prince so much pain, his desire
to see the world had somehow faded away. He contented himself with
reading his books, and looking out of the tower windows, and listening
to his beloved little lark, which had come home with him that day, and
had never left him again.

True, it kept out of the way; but though his nurse sometimes faintly
heard it, and said, "What is that horrid noise outside?" she never got
the faintest chance to make the lark into a pie.

All during the winter the little bird cheered and amused him. He
scarcely needed anything more--not even his traveling cloak, which lay
bundled unnoticed in a corner, tied up in its many knots.

Prince Dolor was now a big boy. Not tall--alas! he never could be that,
with his poor little shrunken legs. But he was stout and strong, with
great sturdy shoulders, and muscular arms, upon which he could swing
himself about almost as well as a monkey. His face, too, was very
handsome; thinner, firmer, more manly; but still the sweet face of his
childhood--his mother's own face.

The boy was not a stupid boy either. He could learn almost anything he
chose--and he did choose, which was more than half the battle. He never
gave up his lessons until he had learned them all--never thought it a
punishment that he had to work at them, and that they cost him a deal of
trouble sometimes.

"But," thought he, "men work, and it must be so grand to be a man;--a
prince too; and I fancy princes work harder than anybody--except kings.
The princes I read about generally turn into kings. I wonder"--the boy
was always wondering--"Nurse"--and one day he startled her with a sudden
question--"tell me--shall I ever be a king?"

The woman stood, perplexed beyond expression. So long a time had passed
by since her crime--if it were a crime--and her sentence, that she now
seldom thought of either. She had even grown used to her punishment. And
the little prince whom she at first hated, she had learned to love--at
least, enough to feel sorry for him.

The Prince noticed that her feeling toward him was changing and did not
shrink from her.

"Nurse--dear nurse," said he, one day, "I don't mean to vex you, but
tell me--what is a king? Shall I ever be one?"

Then the idea came to her--what harm would it be, even if he did know
his own history? Perhaps he ought to know it--for there had been many
changes in Nomansland, as in most other countries. Something might
happen--who could tell? Possibly a crown would yet be set upon those
pretty, fair curls--which she began to think prettier than ever when she
saw the imaginary crown upon them.

She sat down, considering whether her oath, "never to say a word to
Prince Dolor about himself," would be broken, if she were to take a
pencil and write, what was to be told. It was a miserable deception. But
then, she was an unhappy woman, more to be pitied than scorned.

After long doubt, she put her finger to her lips, and taking the
Prince's slate--with a sponge tied to it, ready to rub out the writing
in a minute--she wrote:

"You are a king."

Prince Dolor started. His face grew pale and then flushed all over; his
eyes glistened; he held himself erect. Lame as he was, anybody could see
he was born to be a king.

"Hush!" said the nurse, as he was beginning to speak. And then,
terribly frightened all the while, she wrote down in a few sentences,
his history. How his parents had died, how his uncle had stolen the
throne, and sent him to end his days in this lonely tower.

"I, too," added she, bursting into tears. "Unless, indeed, you could get
out into the world, and fight for your rights like a man. And fight for
me also, My Prince, that I may not die in this desolate place."

"Poor old nurse," said the boy tenderly. For somehow, boy as he was,
when he heard he was born to be a king, he felt like a man--like a
king--who could afford to be tender because he was strong.

He scarcely slept that night, and barely listened to the singing of the
lark. Things more important were in his mind.

"Suppose," thought he, "I were to go into the world, no matter how it
hurts me. The people might only laugh at me, but still I might show them
I could do something. At any rate, I might go and see if there was
anything for me to do. Godmother, help me!"

It was so long since he had asked for help, that he was hardly surprised
when he got no answer. He sprang out of bed, dressed himself, and leaped
to the corner where lay his traveling-cloak and unrolled it.

Then he jumped into the middle of it, said his charm, and was out
through the skylight immediately.

"Good-bye, pretty lark!" he shouted, as he passed it on the wing. "You
have been my pleasure, now I must go and work. Sing to old nurse until I
come back again. Good-bye!"

But as the cloak hung motionless in air, he suddenly remembered that he
had not made up his mind where to go--indeed, he did not know, and there
was nobody to tell him.

"Godmother," he cried, "you know what I want. Tell me where I ought to
go; show me whatever I ought to see--never mind what I like."

This journey was not for pleasure as before. He was not a baby now, to
do nothing but play. Men work, this much Prince Dolor knew. As the cloak
started off, over freezing mountain tops, and desolate forests, smiling
plains and great lakes, he was often rather frightened. But he crouched
down, and wrapping himself up in his bearskin waited for what was to
happen.

After some time he heard a murmur in the distance, and stretching his
chin over the edge of the cloak, Prince Dolor saw--far, far below him,
yet with his gold spectacles and silver ears on he could distinctly hear
and see--a great city!

Suppose you were to see a large city from the upper air; where, with
your ears and eyes open, you could take in everything at once. What
would it look like? How would you feel about it? I hardly know myself.
Do you?

Prince Dolor was as bewildered as a blind person who is suddenly made to
see.

He gazed down on the city below him, and then put his hand over his
eyes.

"I can't bear to look at it, it is so beautiful--so dreadful. And I
don't understand it--not one bit. I wish I had some one to tell me about
it."

"Do you? Then pray speak to me."

The voice that squeaked out this reply came from a great black and white
bird that flew into the cloak and began walking round and round on the
edge of it with a dignified stride.

"I haven't the honor of your acquaintance," said the boy politely.

"My name is Mag and I shall be happy to tell you everything you want to
know. My family is very old; we have builded in this palace for many
years. I am well acquainted with the King, the Queen, and the little
princes and princesses--also the maids of honor, and all the
inhabitants of the city. I talk a great deal, but I always talk sense,
and I dare say I shall be very useful to a poor, little, ignorant boy
like you."

"I am a prince," said the other gently.

"All right. And I am a magpie."

She settled herself at his elbow and began to chatter away, pointing out
with one skinny claw every object of interest, evidently believing, as
no doubt all its inhabitants did, that there was no city in the world
like the great capital of Nomansland.

Mag said that it was the finest city in the world but there were a few
things in it that surprised Prince Dolor. One half the people seemed so
happy and contented and the other half were so poor and miserable. "I
would try to make it a little more equal if I were king," he said.

"But you're not the king," returned the magpie loftily. "Shall I show
you the royal palace?"

It was a magnificent palace covering many acres of ground. It had
terraces and gardens; battlements and towers. But since the Queen died
the windows through which she looked at the Beautiful Mountains, had
been closed and boarded up. The room was so little that no one cared to
use it.

"I should like to see the King," said Prince Dolor, and as he spoke Mag
flew down to the palace roof, where the cloak rested, settling down
between the great stocks of chimneys as comfortably as if on the ground.
Mag pecked at the tiles with her beak and immediately a little hole
opened, a sort of door, through which could be seen distinctly the
chamber below.

"Now pop down on your knees and take a peep at his Majesty."

[Illustration: HE LIFTED UP HIS THIN, SLENDER HAND, AND THERE CAME A
SILENCE OVER THE VAST CROWD IMMEDIATELY. [PAGE 47.]]

The Prince gazed eagerly down, into a large room, the largest room he
had ever beheld, with furniture and hangings grander than anything he
could have ever imagined. A sunbeam struck across the carpet and it
looked like a bed of flowers.

"Where is the King?" asked the puzzled boy.

"There," said Mag, pointing with one wrinkled claw to a magnificent bed,
large enough to contain six people. In the centre of it quite straight
and still with its head on the lace pillow lay a small figure, something
like waxwork, fast asleep. There were a number of sparkling rings on the
tiny yellow hands; the eyes were shut, and the nose looked sharp and
thin, and the long grey beard hid the mouth, and lay over the breast.
Two little flies buzzing about the curtains of the bed was the only
audible sound.

"Is that the King?" whispered Prince Dolor.

"Yes," replied the bird.

He had been angry ever since he learned how his uncle had taken the
crown and had felt as if, king as he was, he should like to strike him,
this great, strong wicked man.

Why, you might as well have struck a baby! How helpless he lay! with his
eyes shut, and his idle hands folded; they had no more work to do, bad
or good.

"What is the matter with him?" asked the Prince.

"He is dead," said the magpie with a croak.

No, there was not the least use in being angry with him now. On the
contrary, the Prince felt almost sorry for him.

"What shall we do now?" asked the magpie. "There's nothing much more to
be done with his Majesty, except a funeral. Suppose we float up again at
a safe distance and see it all. It will be such fun. There will be a
great row in the city and I wonder who we shall have in his place?"

"What will be fun?"

"A Revolution."

As soon as the Cathedral bell began to toll, and the minute guns to
fire, announcing to the Kingdom that it was without a king, the people
gathered in crowds. The murmur now and then rose into a shout, and the
shout into a roar. When Prince Dolor, quietly floating in the upper air,
caught the sound of their different and opposite cries, it seemed to him
as if the whole city had gone mad together.

"Long live the King!" "The King is dead--down with the King!" "Down with
the crown and the King too!" "Hurrah for the Republic!" "Hurrah for no
government at all."

Such were the shouts which came up to him and then began, oh! what a
scene! The country was in a revolution. Soldiers were shooting down
people by hundreds in the streets, scaffolds were being erected, heads
dropping off, houses burned, and women and children murdered.

Prince Dolor saw it all. Things happened so fast after one another that
he nearly lost his senses.

"Oh, let me go home," he cried at last, stopping his ears and shutting
his eyes, "only let me go home!" for even his lonely tower and its
dreariness and silence, was absolute paradise after this.

Prince Dolor fell into a kind of swoon and when he awoke he found
himself in his own room.



CHAPTER VIII.


Next morning when Prince Dolor awoke he perceived that his room was
empty.

Very uncomfortable he felt, of course; and just a little frightened.
Especially when he began to call again and again, but nobody answered.

"Nurse--dear nurse--please come back!" he called out. "Come back, and I
will be the best boy in all the land."

And when she did not come back, and nothing but silence answered his
lamentable call, he very nearly began to cry.

"This won't do," he said at last, dashing the tears from his eyes. "It's
just like a baby, and I'm a big boy--shall be a man some day. What has
happened, I wonder? I'll go and see."

He sprang out of bed and crawled from room to room on his knees.

"What in the world am I to do?" thought he, and sat down in the middle
of the floor, half inclined to believe that it would be better to give
up entirely, lay himself down and die.

This feeling, however, did not last long. He jumped up and looked out of
the window. No help there. At first he only saw the broad bleak sunshiny
plain. But, by-and-by, in the mud around the base of the tower he saw
clearly the marks of horses' feet, and just in the spot where the deaf
mute always tied his great black charger, there lay the remains of a
bundle of hay.

"Yes, that's it. He has come and gone, taking nurse with him. Poor
nurse! how glad she must have been to go!"

That was Prince Dolor's first thought. His second was one of
indignation at her cruelty.

He decided that it would be easier to die here alone than out in the
world, among the terrible doings which he had just beheld.

The deaf mute had come--contrived somehow to make the nurse understand
that the king was dead, and that she need have no fear in going back to
the capital.

"I hope she'll enjoy it," said the Prince.

And then a kind of remorse smote him for feeling so bitterly towards
her, after all the years she had taken care of him--grudgingly, perhaps,
still, she had taken care of him.

For the second time he tried to dress himself, and then to do everything
he could for himself--even to sweeping the hearth and putting on more
coals.

He then thought of his godmother. Not of calling her or asking her to
help him--she had evidently left him to help himself, and he was
determined to try his best to do it, being a very proud and independent
boy--but he remembered her tenderly.

After his first despair, he was comfortable and happy in his solitude,
but when it was time to go to bed, he was very lonely, even his little
lark was silent and as for his traveling cloak, either he never thought
about it, or else it had been spirited away--for he made no use of it,
nor attempted to do so.

On the sixth day, Prince Dolor had a strange contented look in his face.
Get out of the tower he could not; the ladder the deaf mute used was
always carried away again and his food was nearly gone. So he made up
his mind to die. Not that he wished to die; on the contrary, there was a
great deal that he wished to live to do. Dying did not seem so very
dreadful; not even to lie quietly like his uncle, whom he had entirely
forgiven now.

"Suppose I had grown to be a man, and had had work to do, and people to
care for, and was so useful and busy that they liked me, and perhaps
even forgot that I was lame. Then, it would have been nice to have
lived, I think," and tears came into the little fellow's eyes. Then he
heard a trumpet, one of the great silver trumpets so admired in
Nomansland. Not pleasant music, but very bold and grand.

The poor condemned woman had not been such a wicked woman after all. As
soon as she heard of the death of the King, she persuaded the deaf-mute
to take her away with him, and they galloped like the wind from city to
city, spreading everywhere the news that Prince Dolor's death and burial
had been an invention concocted by his wicked uncle--that he was alive
and well, and the noblest young Prince that ever was born.

It was a bold stroke, but it succeeded. People jumped at the idea of
this Prince, who was the son of their late good King and Queen.

"Hurrah for Prince Dolor! Let him be our king!" rang from end to end of
the kingdom. They were determined to have him reign over them.
Accordingly no sooner was the late king laid in his grave than they
pronounced him a usurper; turned all his family out of the palace, and
left it empty for the reception of the new sovereign, whom they went to
fetch with great rejoicing.

They hailed him with delight, as prince and king and went down on their
knees before him, offering the crown to him.

"Yes," he said, "if you desire it, I will be your king. And I will do my
best to make my people happy."

"Oh!" said he, "if before I go, I could only see my dear godmother." He
gazed sadly up to the skylight, whence there came pouring a stream of
sunrays like a bridge between heaven and earth. Sliding down it, came
the little woman in grey.

He held out his arms in eager delight.

"Oh, godmother, you have not forsaken me!"

"Not at all my son. You may not have seen me, but I have seen you many
a time."

"How?"

"Oh, never mind. I can turn into anything I please you know."

"A lark, for instance," cried Prince Dolor.

"Or a Magpie," answered she with a capital imitation of Mag's croaky
voice.

"You will not leave me now that I am king? Otherwise I had rather not be
a king at all," said he.

The little old woman laughed gaily. "Forsake you? That is impossible.
But now I must go. Good-bye! Open the window and out I fly."

Prince Dolor tried to hold his godmother fast, but in vain. A knocking
was heard at the door, and the little woman vanished.

His godmother helped him out of many difficulties for there was never
such a wise old woman.

He was very happy and contented; first, because he took his affliction
patiently; second, because being a brave man, he bore it bravely.
Therefore other people grew to love him so well, that I think hundreds
of his subjects might have been found who were almost ready to die for
their poor lame king.

He did a good many things, however, which a little astonished his
subjects. First, he pardoned the condemned woman, who had been his nurse
and ordered that there should be no such thing as the death punishment
in Nomansland.

Then he chose the eldest son of his eldest cousin, a quiet, unobtrusive
boy, to be educated as heir to the throne.

In course of time, when the little prince had grown into a tall young
man, King Dolor fixed a day when the people should assemble in the great
square of the capital to see the young prince installed solemnly in his
new duties.

The king lifted up his thin slender hand and there came a silence over
the vast crowd immediately as he pronounced the vows which made the
young prince king.

My people he said, I am tired; I want to rest; it is time for me to go
and I do not think I shall come back any more. He drew a little bundle
out of his breast pocket. Then, so suddenly that even those nearest to
his Majesty could not tell how, the king was away--floating right up in
the air--upon something they knew not what. Whither he went or who went
with him it is impossible to say, but I myself believe that his
godmother took him on his traveling cloak to the Beautiful Mountains.


       *       *       *       *       *



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       *       *       *       *       *

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