atted like the backs of
the sheep he was tending. But he was a rather nice-looking lad; and
seemed so bright and healthy and "jolly," that the little Prince watched
him with great admiration.

"Might he come and play with me? I would drop down to the ground to him,
or fetch him up to me."

But the cloak, usually so obedient, disobeyed him now. There was
evidently some things which his godmother could or would not give. The
cloak hung high in air, never attempting to descend. The shepherd lad
took it for a large bird, and shading his eyes, looked up at it, then
turned round and stretched himself, for he had been half asleep, and his
dog had been guarding the sheep.

The boy called to the dog and they started off together for a race
across the fields. Prince Dolor watched them with great excitement, 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.

"I think I had rather not look at him again," said the poor little
Prince, drawing himself back into the centre of his cloak, and resuming
his favorite posture, sitting like a Turk, with his arms wrapped around
his feeble useless legs.

"You're no good to me," he said, patting them mournfully. "You never
will be any good to me. I wonder why I have you at all; I wonder why I
was born at all, since I was not to grow up like other little boys."

Prince Dolor sat a good while thus, and seemed to grow years older in a
few minutes.

Then he fancied the cloak began to rock gently to and fro, with a
soothing kind of motion, as if he were in somebody's arms; somebody who
did not speak, but loved and comforted him without need of words.

He had placed himself so he could see nothing but the sky, and had taken
off his silver ears, as well as his gold spectacles--what was the use of
either when he had no legs to walk or run?--Up from below there rose a
delicious sound.

You have heard it hundreds of times, my children, and so have I. When I
was a child I thought there was nothing so sweet; and I think so still.
It was just the song of a lark, mounting higher and higher, until it
came so close that Prince Dolor could distinguish its quivering wings
and tiny body, almost too tiny to contain such a gush of music.

"Oh, you beautiful, beautiful bird!" cried he; "I should dearly like to
tak