rself?"

The king frowned more darkly. "Better than I love myself!" he said
incredulously. "Can a king love any one better than he loves himself?"

Truth continued: "I cannot read the heart of kings. It is for you,
Sire, to speak. I know not what a king's highest vision may be; but I
know no man should have power over another, save it be the power of
self-sacrificing love. I await your answer--and the prince waits."

But the king repeated, musingly and darkly--"Can a king love any one
better than he loves himself?"

There was a moment of suspense; and then Truth would have moved on; but
at the last instant the king cried out, "Stay a moment--I command you!"
Twice he tried to speak; and then he said: "That little prince, so
helpless and beautiful! You need not think that I have not repented me
of my sins toward him. In the dark nights the winds have brought me
back the echo of his sighs; and by day I have seen in every ray of
sunlight the gleam of his hair, and in the blue sky the beaming eyes of
him. Perhaps if I might try again, though he stood in my way . . . if
you would send him hither . . ."

But he had not promised, and though Prince Arthur waited, ready to go
to him, Truth did not give the signal.

The king was frowning mightily and saying to himself, "Can a king love
any one better than he loves himself? Nay, that could not be!"

In a nervous, slinking manner, he drew back behind his curtain.

Prince Arthur drew his cloak about him more closely, as if he were
cold. Then with an air almost spectral, yet very sad, he drew further
and further away, always keeping his eyes upon the picture of the king.

He came to the folded hangings which opened no one knew whither. He
parted them and passed out. While his hand still clung to the hangings
there came a flash of lightning which revealed the chaos of nothingness
without. Thunder rumbled. Then the hangings fell back into place and
the prince was seen no more.

So it went on until all the children had been restored to their
parents--all save Everychild. And now Truth paused before the curtain
whereon the likeness of Everychild's parents was painted.

"Parents of Everychild, appear!" she cried.

They came, subdued, saddened, hand in hand. And Truth addressed them.

"Parents of Everychild," she said, "I need not tell you now why
Everychild is lost to those who should be nearest to him. You have
learned that coldness and neglect toward those