to his royal brother, were sitting together, with Prince Dolor playing
in a corner of the room, dragging himself about with his arms rather
than his legs, and sometimes trying feebly to crawl from one chair to
another, it seemed to strike the father that all was not right with his
son.

"How old is his Royal Highness?" said he suddenly to the nurse.

"Two years, three months, and five days, please your Majesty."

"It does not please me," said the King, with a sigh. "He ought to be far
more forward than he is now ought he not, brother? You, who have so many
children, must know. Is there not something wrong about him?"

"Oh, no," said the Crown-Prince, exchanging meaning looks with the
nurse, who did not understand at all, but stood frightened and trembling
with the tears in her eyes. "Nothing to make your Majesty at all uneasy.
No doubt his Royal Highness will outgrow it in time."

"Outgrow--what?"

"A slight delicacy--ahem!--in the spine; something inherited, perhaps,
from his dear mother."

"Ah, she was always delicate; but she was the sweetest woman that ever
lived. Come here, my little son."

And as the Prince turned round upon his father a small, sweet, grave
face,--so like his mother's,--his Majesty the King smiled and held out
his arms. But when the boy came to him, not running like a boy, but