ried to smile, failed, then like a forlorn little boy he came and
bowed his head beneath her hand.

"I knew you'd understand, Mother Briskow, so I--I ran to you with my
hurt, just as I used to run to my Mother Gray." After a while he
continued in a smothered voice: "She isn't a wicked princess. She
didn't mean to hurt me and--that's what makes it hurt so deep. She
tumbled the old duke's castle down upon his head; tumbled the old duke
out of his dreams. He isn't a duke any longer."

"He'll allus be a duke," Mrs. Briskow firmly declared. "He was born
that way."

"At any rate, he's a sad old duke now; all his conceit is gone. You
see, he was a vain old gentleman, and his courtiers used to tell him he
was splendid, handsome--They said he looked as handsome as a king, and
by and by he began to think he must be a king. His enemies sneered at
this and said he was neither duke nor king, but a--a mountebank. That
made him furious, so he went to war with them, and, by Jove, he fought
pretty well for an old fellow! Anyhow, he licked 'em. When they fell
down and begged for mercy he knew he was indeed a great person--greater
even than he had suspected and worthy of any princess in the land."

"Pshaw! Ain't a duke higher than a princess?"

"No, Ma. Not higher than this princess. Her father made all the laws.
She is very noble and very good. Good princesses are scarce and--and
so, of course, they're very high. But the Duke of Dallas didn't stop to
think of that. He told himself that he was so strong and so rich and so
desirable that she would be flattered at his notice. He got all dressed
up and went to call on her, and, on the way, whenever he looked into a
shop window, he didn't see the buns and the candies and the dolls
inside; all he saw was his own reflection. It looked so magnificent
that he strutted higher and thought how proud he was going to make her.

"I guess that was the trouble with the old duke all along; he had never
looked deeply enough to see what was inside. Anyhow, what do you think,
Ma? While he'd been off at war conquering people and making them
acknowledge that he was a king, the little princess had fallen in love
with--with his nephew. Nice boy, that nephew, and the duke thought a
lot of him."

Ma Briskow's hand, which had been slowly stroking Gray's bent head,
ceased its movement; she drew a sharp breath.

"There happened to be an old mirror in the princess's boudoir, and
while the duke was waiting for