“I wonder what my godmother meant when she looked at my legs and sighed so bitterly? I wonder why I can't walk straight and steady like my nurse only I wouldn't like to have her great, noisy, clumping shoes. Still it would be very nice to move about quickly--perhaps to fly, like a bird, like that string of birds I saw the other day skimming across the sky, one after the other.” These were the passage-birds--the only living creatures that ever crossed the lonely plain; and he had been much interested in them, wonder-ing whence they came and whither they were going. “How nice it must be to be a bird! If legs are no good, why cannot one have wings? People have wings when they die--perhaps; I wish I were dead, that I do. I am so tired, so tired; and nobody cares for me. Nobody ever did care for me, except perhaps my godmother. Godmother, dear, have you quite forsaken me?” He stretched himself wearily, gathered himself up, and dropped his head upon his hands; as he did so, he felt somebody kiss him at the back of his neck, and, turning, found that he was resting, not on the sofa pillows, but on a warm shoulder--that of the little old woman clothed in gray. How glad he was to see her! How he looked into her kind eyes and felt her hands, to see if she were all real and alive! then put both his arms round her neck, and kissed her as if he would never have done kissing. “Stop, stop!” cried she, pretending to be smothered. “I see you have not forgotten my teachings. Kissing is a good thing--in moderation. Only just let me have breath to speak one word.” “A dozen!” he said. “Well, then, tell me all that has happened to you since I saw you--or, rather, since you saw me, which is quite a different thing.” “Nothing has happened--nothing ever does happen to me,” answered the Prince dolefully. “And are you very dull, my boy?” “So dull that I was just thinking whether I could not jump down to the bottom of the tower, like my white kitten.” “Don't do that, not being a white kitten.” “I wish I were--I wish I were anything but what I am.” “And you can't make yourself any different, nor can I do it either. You must be content to stay just what you are.” The little old woman said this--very firmly, but gently, too--with her arms round his neck and her lips on his forehead. It was the first time the boy had ever heard any one talk like this, and he looked up in surprise--but not in pain, for her sweet manner softened the hardness of her words. “Now, my Prince,--for you are a prince, and must behave as such,--let us see what we can do; how much I can do for you, or show you how to do for yourself. Where is your traveling-cloak?” Prince Dolor blushed extremely. “I--I put it away in the cupboard; I suppose it is there still.” “You have never used it; you dislike it?” He hesitated, no; wishing to be impolite. “Don't you think it's--just a little old and shabby for a prince?” The old woman laughed--long and loud, though very sweetly.