When we see people suffering or unfortunate, we feel very sorry for them; but when we see them bravely bearing their sufferings and making the best of their misfortunes, it is quite a different feeling. We respect, we admire them. One can respect and admire even a little child. When Prince Dolor had patiently untied all the knots, a remarkable thing happened. The cloak began to undo itself. Slowly unfolding, it laid itself down on the carpet, as flat as if it had been ironed; the split joined with a little sharp crick-crack, and the rim turned up all round till it was breast-high; for meantime the cloak had grown and grown, and become quite large enough for one person to sit in it as comfortable as if in a boat. The Prince watched it rather anxiously; it was such an extraordinary, not to say a frightening, thing. However, he was no coward, but a thorough boy, who, if he had been like other boys, would doubtless have grown up daring and adventurous--a soldier, a sailor, or the like. As it was, he could only show his courage morally, not physically, by being afraid of nothing, and by doing boldly all that it was in his narrow powers to do. And I am not sure but that in this way he showed more real valor than if he had had six pairs of proper legs. He said to himself: “What a goose I am! As if my dear godmother would ever have given me anything to hurt me. Here goes!” So, with one of his active leaps, he sprang right into the middle of the cloak, where he squatted down, wrapping his arms tight round his knees, for they shook a little and his heart beat fast. But there he sat, steady and silent, waiting for what might happen next. Nothing did happen, and he began to think nothing would, and to feel rather disappointed, when he recollected the words he had been told to repeat--“Abracadabra, dum dum dum!” He repeated them, laughing all the while, they seemed such nonsense. And then--and then---- Now I don't expect anybody to believe what I am going to relate, though a good many wise people have believed a good many sillier things. And as seeing's believing, and I never saw it, I cannot be expected implicitly to believe it myself, except in a sort of a way; and yet there is truth in it--for some people. The cloak rose, slowly and steadily, at first only a few inches, then gradually higher and higher, till it nearly touched the skylight. Prince Dolor's head actually bumped against the glass, or would have done so had he not crouched down, crying “Oh, please don't hurt me!” in a most melancholy voice. Then he suddenly remembered his godmother's express command--“Open the skylight!” Regaining his courage at once, without a moment's delay he lifted up his head and began searching for the bolt--the cloak meanwhile remaining perfectly still, balanced in the air. But the minute the window was opened, out it sailed--right out into the clear, fresh air, with nothing between it and the cloudless blue.