“Toys, indeed! when I'm a big boy,” said the Prince, with disdain, and would scarcely condescend to mount a rocking-horse which had come, somehow or other,--I can't be expected to explain things very exactly,--packed on the back of the other, the great black horse, which stood and fed contentedly at the bottom of the tower. Prince Dolor leaned over and looked at it, and thought how grand it must be to get upon its back--this grand live steed--and ride away, like the pictures of knights. “Suppose I was a knight,” he said to himself; “then I should be obliged to ride out and see the world.” But he kept all these thoughts to himself, and just sat still, devouring his new books till he had come to the end of them all. It was a repast not unlike the Barmecide's feast which you read of in the “Arabian Nights,” which consisted of very elegant but empty dishes, or that supper of Sancho Panza in “Don Quixote,” where, the minute the smoking dishes came on the table, the physician waved his hand and they were all taken away. Thus almost all the ordinary delights of boy-life had been taken away from, or rather never given to this poor little prince. “I wonder,” he would sometimes think--“I wonder what it feels like to be on the back of a horse, galloping away, or holding the reins in a carriage, and tearing across the country, or jumping a ditch, or running a race, such as I read of or see in pictures. What a lot of things there are that I should like to do! But first I should like to go and see the world. I'll try.” Apparently it was his godmother's plan always to let him try, and try hard, before he gained anything. This day the knots that tied up his traveling-cloak were more than usually troublesome, and he was a full half-hour before he got out into the open air, and found himself floating merrily over the top of the tower. Hitherto, in all his journeys, he had never let himself go out of sight of home, for the dreary building, after all, was home--he remembered no other; but now he felt sick of the very look of his tower, with its round smooth walls and level battlements. “Off we go!” cried he, when the cloak stirred itself with a slight, slow motion, as if waiting his orders. “Anywhere anywhere, so that I am away from here, and out into the world.” As he spoke, the cloak, as if seized suddenly with a new idea, bounded forward and went skimming through the air, faster than the very fastest railway train. “Gee-up! gee-up!” cried Prince Dolor in great excitement. “This is as good as riding a race.” And he patted the cloak as if it had been a horse--that is, in the way he supposed horses ought to be patted--and tossed his head back to meet the fresh breeze, and pulled his coat collar up and his hat down as he felt the wind grow keener and colder--colder than anything he had ever known. “What does it matter, though?” said he. “I'm a boy, and boys ought not to mind anything.”