So Prince Dolor quitted his tower--which he had entered so mournfully
and ignominiously as a little helpless baby carried in the deaf-mute's
arms--quitted it as the great King of Nomansland.

The only thing he took away with him was something so insignificant that
none of the lords, gentlemen, and soldiers who escorted him with such
triumphant splendor could possibly notice it--a tiny bundle, which
he had found lying on the floor just where the bridge of sunbeams had
rested. At once he had pounced upon it, and thrust it secretly into his
bosom, where it dwindled into such small proportions that it might
have been taken for a mere chest-comforter, a bit of flannel, or an old
pocket-handkerchief. It was his traveling-cloak!



CHAPTER X

Did Prince Dolar become a great king? Was he, though little more than a
boy, "the father of his people," as all kings ought to be? Did his reign
last long--long and happy? and what were the principal events of it, as
chronicled in the history of Nomansland?

Why, if I were to answer all these questions I should have to write
another book. And I'm tired, children, tired--as grown-up people
sometimes are, though not always with play. (Besides, I have a small
person belonging to me, who, though she likes extremely to listen to the
word-of-mouth story of this book, grumbles much at the writing of it,
and has run about the house clapping her hands with joy when mamma told
her that it was nearly finished. But that is neither here nor there.)