"Poor woman!" he thought, when he paused a minute to listen and look at
her with those quiet, happy eyes, so like his mother's. "Poor woman! she
hasn't got a traveling-cloak!"

And when he was left alone at last, and crept into his little bed, where
he lay awake a good while, watching what he called his "sky-garden," all
planted with stars, like flowers, his chief thought was--"I must be up
very early to-morrow morning, and get my lessons done, and then I'll go
traveling all over the world on my beautiful cloak."

So next day he opened his eyes with the sun, and went with a good heart
to his lessons. They had hitherto been the chief amusement of his dull
life; now, I am afraid, he found them also a little dull. But he tried
to be good,--I don't say Prince Dolor always was good, but he generally
tried to be,--and when his mind went wandering after the dark, dusty
corner where lay his precious treasure, he resolutely called it back
again.

"For," he said, "how ashamed my godmother would be of me if I grew up a
stupid boy!"

But the instant lessons were done, and he was alone in the empty room,
he crept across the floor, undid the shabby little bundle, his fingers
trembling with eagerness, climbed on the chair, and thence to the table,
so as to unbar the skylight,--he forgot nothing now,--said his magic
charm, and was away out of the window, as children say, "in a few
minutes less than no time."

Nobody missed him. He was accustomed to sit so quietly always that