"I wish I were--I wish I were anything but what I am." "And you can't make yourself any different, nor can I do it either. You must be content to stay just what you are." The little old woman said this--very firmly, but gently, too--with her arms round his neck and her lips on his forehead. It was the first time the boy had ever heard anyone talk like this, and he looked up in surprise--but not in pain, for her sweet manner softened the hardness of her words. "Now, my Prince,--for you are a prince, and must behave as such,--let us see what we can do; how much I can do for you, or show you how to do for yourself. Where is your traveling-cloak?" Prince Dolor blushed extremely. "I--I put it away in the cupboard; I suppose it is there still." "You have never used it; you dislike it?" He hesitated, not wishing to be impolite. "Don't you think it's--just a little old and shabby for a prince?" The old woman laughed--long and loud, though very sweetly. "Prince, indeed! Why, if all the princes in the world craved for it, they couldn't get it, unless I gave it to them. Old and shabby! It's the most valuable thing imaginable! Very few ever have it; but I thought I would give it to you, because--because you are different from other people." "Am I?" said the Prince, and looked first with curiosity, then with a sort of anxiety, into his godmother's face, which was sad and grave, with slow tears beginning to steal down. She touched his poor little legs. "These are not like those of other little boys." "Indeed!--my nurse never told me that." "Very likely not. But it is time you were told; and I tell you, because I love you." "Tell me what, dear godmother?" "That you will never be able to walk or run or jump or play--that your life will be quite different from most people's lives; but it may be a very happy life for all that. Do not be afraid." "I am not afraid," said the boy; but he turned very pale, and his lips began to quiver, though he did not actually cry--he was too old for that, and, perhaps,
Prev.
Back
Top