a race."

They started off together, boy and dog--barking and shouting, till it
was doubtful which made the more noise or ran the faster. A regular
steeplechase it was: first across the level common, greatly disturbing
the quiet sheep; and then tearing away across country, scrambling
through hedges and leaping ditches, and tumbling up and down over plowed
fields. They did not seem to have anything to run for--but as if they
did it, both of them, for the mere pleasure of motion.

And what a pleasure that seemed! To the dog of course, but scarcely less
so to the boy. How he skimmed along over the ground--his cheeks glowing,
and his hair flying, and his legs--oh, what a pair of legs he had!

Prince Dolor watched him with great intentness, and in a state of
excitement almost equal to that of the runner himself--for a while. Then
the sweet, pale face grew a trifle paler, the lips began to quiver, and
the eyes to fill.

"How nice it must be to run like that!" he said softly, thinking that
never--no, never in this world--would he be able to do the same.

Now he understood what his godmother had meant when she gave him his
traveling-cloak, and why he had heard that sigh--he was sure it was
hers--when he had asked to see "just one little boy."

"I think I had rather not look at him again," said the poor little
Prince, drawing himself back into the center of his cloak, and resuming
his favorite posture, sitting like a Turk, with his arms wrapped round
his feeble, useless legs.