The question aroused a dozen suggestions, each fairy seeming to favor a different mortal. Every member of this band, as you doubtless know, was the unseen guardian of some man or woman or child in the great world beyond the forest, and it was but natural that each should wish her own ward have the magic cloak. While they thus disputed, another fairy joined them and pressed to the side of the queen. “Welcome, Ereol,” said Lulea. “You are late.” The new-comer was very lovely in appearance, and with her fluffy golden hair and clear blue eyes was marvelously fair to look upon. In a low, grave voice she answered the queen: “Yes, your Majesty, I am late. But I could not help it. The old King of Noland, whose guardian I have been since his birth, has passed away this evening, and I could not bear to leave him until the end came.” “So the old king is dead at last!” said the queen, thoughtfully. “He was a good man, but woefully uninteresting; and he must have wearied you greatly at times, my sweet Ereol.” [Illustration: “‘YES, YOUR MAJESTY, I AM LATE.’”] “All mortals are, I think, wearisome,” returned the fairy, with a sigh. “And who is the new King of Noland?” asked Lulea. “There is none,” answered Ereol. “The old king died without a single relative to succeed to his throne, and his five high counselors were in a great dilemma when I came away.” “Well, my dear, you may rest and enjoy yourself for a period, in order to regain your old lightsome spirits. By and by I will appoint you guardian to some newly born babe, that your duties may be less arduous. But I am sorry you were not with us to-night, for we have had rare sport. See! we have woven a magic cloak.” Ereol examined the garment with pleasure. “And who is to wear it?” she asked. Then again arose the good-natured dispute as to which mortal in all the world should possess the magic cloak. Finally the queen, laughing at the arguments of her band, said to them: “Come! Let us leave the decision to the Man in the Moon. He has been watching us with a great deal of amusement, and once, I am sure, I caught him winking at us in quite a roguish way.” At this every head was turned toward the moon; and then a man’s face, full-bearded and wrinkled, but with a jolly look upon the rough features, appeared sharply defined upon the moon’s broad surface. “So I’m to decide another dispute, eh?” said he, in a clear voice. “Well, my dears, what is it this time?” “We wish you to say what mortal shall wear the magic cloak which I and the ladies of my court have woven,” replied Queen Lulea. “Give it to the first unhappy person you meet,” said the Man in the Moon. “The happy mortals have no need of magic cloaks.” And with this advice the friendly face of the Man in the Moon faded away until only the outlines remained visible against the silver disk. The queen clapped her hands delightedly. [Illustration: “‘GIVE IT TO THE FIRST UNHAPPY PERSON YOU MEET.’”]