come on the morrow.

"This must be the house where the prince will stop," thought Barbara. "How
I would like to see his face and hear his voice!--yet what would he care
for _me_, a 'miserable little beggar'?"

So Barbara crept on through the storm, shivering and disconsolate, yet
thinking of the prince.

"Where are you going?" she asked of the wind as it overtook her.

"To the cathedral," laughed the wind. "The great people are flocking
there, and I will have a merry time amongst them, ha, ha, ha!"

And with laughter the wind whirled away and chased the snow toward the
cathedral.

"It is there, then, that the prince will come," thought Barbara. "It is a
beautiful place, and the people will pay him homage there. Perhaps I shall
see him if I go there."

So she went to the cathedral. Many folk were there in their richest
apparel, and the organ rolled out its grand music, and the people sang
wondrous songs, and the priests made eloquent prayers; and the music, and
the songs, and the prayers were all about the prince and his expected
coming. The throng that swept in and out of the great edifice talked
always of the prince, the prince, the prince, until Barbara really loved
him very much, for all the gentle words she heard the people say of him.

"Please, can I go and sit inside?" inquired Barbara of the sexton.