After this journey which had given the Prince so much pain, his desire to see the world had somehow faded away. He contented himself with reading his books, and looking out of the tower windows, and listening to his beloved little lark, which had come home with him that day, and had never left him again. True, it kept out of the way; but though his nurse sometimes faintly heard it, and said, "What is that horrid noise outside?" she never got the faintest chance to make the lark into a pie. All during the winter the little bird cheered and amused him. He scarcely needed anything more--not even his traveling cloak, which lay bundled unnoticed in a corner, tied up in its many knots. Prince Dolor was now a big boy. Not tall--alas! he never could be that, with his poor little shrunken legs. But he was stout and strong, with great sturdy shoulders, and muscular arms, upon which he could swing himself about almost as well as a monkey. His face, too, was very handsome; thinner, firmer, more manly; but still the sweet face of his childhood--his mother's own face. The boy was not a stupid boy either. He could learn almost anything he chose--and he did choose, which was more than half the battle. He never gave up his lessons until he had learned them all--never thought it a punishment that he had to work at them, and that they cost him a deal of trouble sometimes. "But," thought he, "men work, and it must be so grand to be a man;--a prince too; and I fancy princes work harder than anybody--except kings. The princes I read about generally turn into kings. I wonder"--the boy was always wondering--"Nurse"--and one day he startled her with a sudden question--"tell me--shall I ever be a king?" The woman stood, perplexed beyond expression. So long a time had passed by since her crime--if it were a crime--and her sentence, that she now seldom thought of either. She had even grown used to her punishment. And the little prince whom she at first hated, she had learned to love--at least, enough to feel sorry for him. The Prince noticed that her feeling toward him was changing and did not shrink from her. "Nurse--dear nurse," said he, one day, "I don't mean to vex you, but tell me--what is a king? Shall I ever be one?" Then the idea came to her--what harm would it be, even if he did know his own history? Perhaps he ought to know it--for there had been many changes in Nomansland, as in most other countries. Something might happen--who could tell? Possibly a crown would yet be set upon those pretty, fair curls--which she began to think prettier than ever when she saw the imaginary crown upon them. She sat down, considering whether her oath, "never to say a word to Prince Dolor about himself," would be broken, if she were to take a pencil and write, what was to be told. It was a miserable deception. But then, she was an unhappy woman, more to be pitied than scorned.