aken better
care of my godmother's gift. Oh, godmother, forgive me! 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, my Prince, and see what you
shall see."

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

Prince Dolor darted toward it, tumbling several times on the way, as
he often did tumble, poor boy! and pick himself up again, never
complaining. Snatching it to his breast, he hugged and kissed it,
cobwebs and all, as if it had been something alive. Then he began
unrolling it, wondering each minute what would happen. What did happen
was so curious that I must leave it for another chapter.

CHAPTER V

If any reader, big or little, should wonder whether there is a meaning
in this story deeper than that of an ordinary fairy tale, I will own
that there is. But I have hidden it so carefully that the smaller
people, and many larger folk, will never find it out, and meantime the
book may be read straight on, like "Cinderella," or "Blue-Beard," or
"Hop-o'my-Thumb," for what interest it has, or what amusement it may
bring.

Having said this, I return to Prince Dolor, that little lame boy whom
many may think so exceedingly to be pitied. But if you had seen him as
he sat patiently untying his wonderful cloak, which was done up in
a very tight and perplexing parcel, using skillfully his deft little
hands, and knitting his brows with firm determination, while his eyes
glistened with pleasure and energy and eager anticipation--if you had
beheld him thus, you might have changed your opinion.

When we see people suffering or unfortunate, we feel very sorry for
them; but when we see them bravely bearing their sufferings and making
the best of their misfortunes, it is quite a different feeling. We
respect, we admire them. One can respect and admire even a little child.

When Prince Dolor had patiently untied all the knots, a remarkable thing
happened. 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
join