On the sixth day, Prince Dolor had a strange contented look in his face. Get out of the tower he could not; the ladder the deaf mute used was always carried away again and his food was nearly gone. So he made up his mind to die. Not that he wished to die; on the contrary, there was a great deal that he wished to live to do. Dying did not seem so very dreadful; not even to lie quietly like his uncle, whom he had entirely forgiven now. "Suppose I had grown to be a man, and had had work to do, and people to care for, and was so useful and busy that they liked me, and perhaps even forgot that I was lame. Then, it would have been nice to have lived, I think," and tears came into the little fellow's eyes. Then he heard a trumpet, one of the great silver trumpets so admired in Nomansland. Not pleasant music, but very bold and grand. The poor condemned woman had not been such a wicked woman after all. As soon as she heard of the death of the King, she persuaded the deaf-mute to take her away with him, and they galloped like the wind from city to city, spreading everywhere the news that Prince Dolor's death and burial had been an invention concocted by his wicked uncle--that he was alive and well, and the noblest young Prince that ever was born. It was a bold stroke, but it succeeded. People jumped at the idea of this Prince, who was the son of their late good King and Queen. "Hurrah for Prince Dolor! Let him be our king!" rang from end to end of the kingdom. They were determined to have him reign over them. Accordingly no sooner was the late king laid in his grave than they pronounced him a usurper; turned all his family out of the palace, and left it empty for the reception of the new sovereign, whom they went to fetch with great rejoicing. They hailed him with delight, as prince and king and went down on their knees before him, offering the crown to him. "Yes," he said, "if you desire it, I will be your king. And I will do my best to make my people happy." "Oh!" said he, "if before I go, I could only see my dear godmother." He gazed sadly up to the skylight, whence there came pouring a stream of sunrays like a bridge between heaven and earth. Sliding down it, came the little woman in grey. He held out his arms in eager delight. "Oh, godmother, you have not forsaken me!" "Not at all my son. You may not have seen me, but I have seen you many a time." "How?" "Oh, never mind. I can turn into anything I please you know." "A lark, for instance," cried Prince Dolor. "Or a Magpie," answered she with a capital imitation of Mag's croaky voice. "You will not leave me now that I am king? Otherwise I had rather not be a king at all," said he. The little old woman laughed gaily. "Forsake you? That is impossible. But now I must go. Good-bye! Open the window and out I fly." Prince Dolor tried to hold his godmother fast, but in vain. A knocking was heard at the door, and the little woman vanished.