h for me, and I come."

"Thank you," said Prince Dolor, but almost in a whisper, for he was
very uneasy at what might happen next. His nurse and his godmother--what
would they say to one another? how would they look at one another?--two
such different faces: one harsh-lined, sullen, cross, and sad; the other
sweet and bright and calm as a summer evening before the dark begins.

When the door was flung open, Prince Dolor shut his eyes, trembling all
over; opening them again, he saw he need fear nothing--his lovely old
godmother had melted away just like the rainbow out of the sky, as he
had watched it many a time. Nobody but his nurse was in the room.

"What a muddle your Royal Highness is sitting in," said she sharply.
"Such a heap of untidy books; and what's this rubbish?" knocking a
little bundle that lay beside them.

"Oh, nothing, nothing--give it me!" cried the Prince, and, darting after
it, he hid it under his pinafore, and then pushed it quickly into his
pocket. Rubbish as it was, it was left in the place where she sat, and
might be something belonging to her--his dear, kind godmother, whom
already he loved with all his lonely, tender, passionate heart.

It was, though he did not know this, his wonderful traveling-cloak.

CHAPTER IV

And what of the traveling-cloak? What sort of cloak was it, and what A
good did it do the Prince?

Stay, and I'll tell you all about it. Outside it was the
commonest-looking bundle imaginable--shabby and small; and the instant
Prince Dolor touched it, it grew smaller still, dwindling down till he
could put it in his trousers pocket, like a handkerchief rolled up into
a ball. He did this at once, for fear his nurse should see it, and kept
it there all day--all night, too. Till after his next morning's lessons
he had no opportunity of examining his treasure.

When he did, it seemed no treasure at all; but a mere piece of
cloth--circular in form, dark green in color--that is, if it had any
color at all, being so worn and shabby, though not dirty. It had a split
cut to the center, forming a round hole for the neck--and that was all
its shape; the shape, in fact, of those cloaks which in South America
are called ponchos--very simple, but most graceful and convenient.

Prince Dolor had never seen anything like it. In spite of his
disappointment, he examined it curiously; spread it out on the door,
then arranged it on his shoulders. It felt very warm and comfortable;
but it w