admiration.

"Might he come and play with me? I would drop down to the ground to him,
or fetch him up to me here. Oh, how nice it would be if I only had a
little boy to play with me."

But the cloak, usually so obedient to his wishes, disobeyed him now.
There were evidently some things which his godmother either could
not or would not give. The cloak hung stationary, high in air, never
attempting to descend. The shepherd-lad evidently took it for a large
bird, and, shading his eyes, looked up at it, making the Prince's heart
beat fast.

However, nothing ensued. The boy turned round, with a long, loud
whistle--seemingly his usual and only way of expressing his feelings. He
could not make the thing out exactly--it was a rather mysterious affair,
but it did not trouble him much--he was not an "examining" boy.

Then, stretching himself, for he had been evidently half asleep, he
began flopping his shoulders with his arms to wake and warm himself;
while his dog, a rough collie, who had been guarding the sheep
meanwhile, began to jump upon him, barking with delight.

"Down, Snap, down: Stop that, or I'll thrash you," the Prince heard him
say; though with such a rough, hard voice and queer pronunciation that
it was difficult to make the words out. "Hollo! Let's warm ourselves by
a race."

They started off together, boy and dog--barking and shouting, till it
was doubtful which made the more noise or ran the faster. A regular
steeplechase it was: first across the level common, greatly disturbing
the quiet sheep; and then tearing away across country, scrambling
through hedges and leaping ditches, and tumbling up and down over plowed
fields. They did not seem to have anything to run for--but as if they
did it, both of them, for the mere pleasure of motion.

And what a pleasure that seemed! To the dog of course, but scarcely less
so to the boy. How he skimmed along over the ground--his cheeks glowing,
and his hair flying, and his legs--oh, what a pair of legs he had!

Prince Dolor watched him with great intentness, and in a state of
excitement almost equal to that of the runner himself--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.

Now he understood what his godmother had meant when she gave him his
traveling-cloak, and why