al house
altogether was shown by the fact that the lock on the temple of the
first-born twined itself into a perfect curl. The lock on the left temple
of the second son remained brown, and not a sign of grey could be
discovered even with a magnifying glass. The heart of the young mother
was filled with alarm, and she called the old nurse who had taken care of
her dead husband when he was a baby, to ask her what had happened at his
baptism, and the old woman burst into tears, and ended by betraying the
gloomy forecasts of the Astrologer and wise men. That a Greylock should
go through life without the white curl was unheard of, was awful! And the
old nurse called the poor little creature, "an ill-starred child, a dear
pitiable princeling."

Then the mother recalled her last dream, in which she had seen a dragon
attack her youngest boy. A great fear possessed her heart, and she bade
them bring the child to her. When they laid him naked before her, she
stroked the little round body, the straight back, and well-shaped legs
with her weak hands, and felt comforted. He was a beautifully-formed,
well-developed child, her child, her very own, and nothing was lacking
save the grey lock. She never wearied of looking at him; at last she
leaned over him and whispered: "You sweet little darling, you are just as
good, and just as much of a Greylock as your brother. He will be duke,
but that is no great piece of luck, and we will not begrudge it to him.
His subjects will some day give him enough anxiety. He must grow to be a
mighty man for their sakes, and I doubt not that his nurse gives him
better nourishment to that end than I could who am only a weak woman. But
you, you poor, dear, little ill-omened mite, I shall nourish you myself,
and if your life is unhappy it shall not be because I have not done my
best."

When the Chief Priest came to her, to ask her what name she had chosen
for the second boy--the first, of course, was to be Wendelin XVI--she
remembered her dream, and answered quickly: "Let him be named George, for
it was he who killed the dragon."

The old man understood her meaning, and answered earnestly: "That is a
good name for him."

Time passed, and both of the princes flourished. George was nourished by
his own mother, Wendelin by a hired nurse. They learned to babble and
coo, then to walk and talk, for in this respect the sons of dukes with
grey locks are just like other boys. And yet no two children are alike,
a