color at all, being so worn and shabby, though not dirty. It had a split
cut to the center, forming a round hole for the neck--and that was all
its shape; the shape, in fact, of those cloaks which in South America
are called ponchos--very simple, but most graceful and convenient.

Prince Dolor had never seen anything like it. In spite of his
disappointment, he examined it curiously; spread it out on the door,
then arranged it on his shoulders. It felt very warm and comfortable;
but it was so exceedingly shabby--the only shabby thing that the Prince
had ever seen in his life.

"And what use will it be to me?" said he sadly. "I have no need of
outdoor clothes, as I never go out. Why was this given me, I wonder? and
what in the world am I to do with it? She must be a rather funny person,
this dear godmother of mine."

Nevertheless, because she was his godmother, and had given him the
cloak, he folded it carefully and put it away, poor and shabby as it
was, hiding it in a safe corner of his top cupboard, which his nurse
never meddled with. He did not want her to find it, or to laugh at it or
at his godmother--as he felt sure she would, if she knew all.

There it lay, and by and by he forgot all about it; nay, I am sorry to
say that, being but a child, and not seeing her again, he almost forgot
his sweet old godmother, or thought of her only as he did of the angels
or fairies that he read of in his books, and of her visit as if it had
been a mere dream of the night.

There were times, certainly, when he recalled her: of early mornings,
like that morning when she appeared beside him, and late evenings, when