“I, too,” added she, bursting into tears. “Unless, indeed, you could get out into the world, and fight for your rights like a man. And fight for me also, my Prince, that I may not die in this desolate place.” “Poor old nurse!” said the boy compassionately. For somehow, boy as he was, when he heard he was born to be a king, he felt like a man--like a king--who could afford to be tender because he was strong. He scarcely slept that night, and even though he heard his little lark singing in the sunrise, he barely listened to it. Things more serious and important had taken possession of his mind. “Suppose,” thought he, “I were to do as she says, and go out in the world, no matter how it hurts me--the world of people, active people, as that boy I saw. They might only laugh at me--poor helpless creature that I am; but still I might show them I could do something. At any rate, I might go and see if there were anything for me to do. Godmother, help me!” It was so long since he had asked her help that he was hardly surprised when he got no answer--only the little lark outside the window sang louder and louder, and the sun rose, flooding the room with light. Prince Dolor sprang out of bed, and began dressing himself, which was hard work, for he was not used to it--he had always been accustomed to depend upon his nurse for everything. “But I must now learn to be independent,” thought he. “Fancy a king being dressed like a baby!” So he did the best he could,--awkwardly but cheerily,--and then he leaped to the corner where lay his traveling-cloak, untied it as before, and watched it unrolling itself--which it did rapidly, with a hearty good-will, as if quite tired of idleness. So was Prince Dolor--or felt as if he were. He jumped into the middle of it, said his charm, and was out through the skylight immediately. “Good-by, pretty lark!” he shouted, as he passed it on the wing, still warbling its carol to the newly risen sun. “You have been my pleasure, my delight; now I must go and work. Sing to old nurse till I come back again. Perhaps she'll hear you--perhaps she won't--but it will do her good all the same. Good-by!” But, as the cloak hung irresolute in air, he suddenly remembered that he had not determined where to go--indeed, he did not know, and there was nobody to tell him. “Godmother,” he cried, in much perplexity, “you know what I want,--at least, I hope you do, for I hardly do myself--take me where I ought to go; show me whatever I ought to see--never mind what I like to see,” as a sudden idea came into his mind that he might see many painful and disagreeable things. But this journey was not for pleasure as before. He was not a baby now, to do nothing but play--big boys do not always play. Nor men neither--they work. Thus much Prince Dolor knew--though very little more.