ver the queen made known to Ogier that she wished to take him for
her second husband. Gentle was she and fair, and easy it was for Ogier
to love her, and his heart beat high at the thought of sitting on the
throne where Charlemagne had once sat. The people rejoiced greatly when
they heard of the marriage, for with Ogier for their king they were
safe, they thought, from invaders.

The wedding day had come, and scarce a man or woman in Paris had closed
their eyes the night before. Magnificent indeed would the procession be
that was to end in the new cathedral; gorgeous would be the trappings of
the horses, dazzling the dresses of the ladies that would ride, some in
litters and some on horses, through the streets that bordered the river.
Early was the queen astir, to be tired by her maidens, and if Ogier's
slumbers lasted longer--well, it was not the first time that he had been
crowned a king.

At length he was awakened by the sound of a voice calling his name:

'Ogier, Ogier!' and at the sound the present was forgotten, and the past
rushed back. 'Ogier, Ogier!' whispered the voice again, and, looking, he
saw standing by his bed not the queen, but Morgane le Fay.

'Rise quickly,' she said, 'and put on your wedding garments. Clothe
yourself in the mantle Charlemagne wore, and the crown that was placed
upon his brow. Set on your feet his shoes of gold, and let me see you
once as France would have seen you.'

He did her bidding, and she gazed at him awhile, then slowly drawing
nigh she lifted the crown from his hair, and in its stead she put on him
the wreath of laurel which brought peace and forgetfulness.

'Now come with me,' she said, holding out her hand, and together they
left the palace unseen, and entered a barge that was waiting in the
river, and in the sunrise they sailed away to the castle of Avallon.

[Adapted from Dunlop's _History of Prose Fiction_, and Morris's _Ogier
the Dane_.]

_HOW THE ASS BECAME A MAN AGAIN_

Once upon a time there lived a young man who would do nothing from
morning till night but amuse himself. His parents were dead and had left
him plenty of money, but this was fast vanishing, and his friends shook
their heads sadly, for when the money was gone they did not see where
more was to come from. It was not that Apuleius (for that was the name
of the youth) was stupid. He might have been a good soldier, or a
scholar, or a worker in gold, if so it had pleased him, but from a chil