Nothing either frightening or ugly, but still exceedingly curious. A little woman, no bigger than he might himself have been had his legs grown like those of other children; but she was not a child--she was an old woman. Her hair was gray, and her dress was gray, and there was a gray shadow over her wherever she moved. But she had the sweetest smile, the prettiest hands, and when she spoke it was in the softest voice imaginable.
"My dear little boy,"--and dropping her cane, the only bright and rich thing about her, she laid those two tiny hands on his shoulders, --"my own little boy, I could not come to you until you had said you wanted me; but now you do want me, here I am.""And you are very welcome, madam," replied the Prince, trying to speak politely, as princes always did in books; "and I am exceedingly obliged to you. May I ask who you are? Perhaps my mother?" For he knew that little boys usually had a mother, and had occasionally wondered what had become of his own.
"No," said the visitor, with a tender, half-sad smile, putting back the hair from his forehead, and looking right into his eyes--"no, I am not your mother, though she was a dear friend of mine; and you are as like her as ever you can be.""Will you tell her to come and see me, then?""She cannot; but I dare say she knows all about you. And she loves you very much--and so do I; and I want to help you all I can, my poor little boy.""Why do you call me poor?" asked Prince Dolor, in surprise.
The little old woman glanced down on his legs and feet, which he did not know were different from those of other children, and then at his sweet, bright face, which, though he knew not that either, was exceedingly different from many children's faces, which are often so fretful, cross, sullen. Looking at him, instead of sighing, she smiled. "I beg your pardon, my Prince," said she.
"Yes, I am a prince, and my name is Dolor; will you tell me yours, madam?"
The little old woman laughed like a chime of silver bells.
"I have not got a name--or, rather, I have so many names that I don't know which to choose.
However, it was I who gave you yours, and you will belong to me all your days. I am your godmother.""Hurrah!" cried the little Prince; "I am glad I belong to you, for I like you very much.
Will you come and play with me?"
So they sat down together and played. By and by they began to talk.
"Are you very dull here?" asked the little old woman.
"Not particularly, thank you, godmother. I have plenty to eat and drink, and my lessons to do, and my books to read--lots of books.""And you want nothing?"
"Nothing. Yes--perhaps---- If you please, godmother, could you bring me just one more thing?""What sort of thing!"
"A little boy to play with."
The old woman looked very sad. "Just the thing, alas I which I cannot give you. My child, I cannot alter your lot in any way, but I can help you to bear it.""Thank you. But why do you talk of bearing it? I have nothing to bear.""My poor little man!" said the old woman in the very tenderest tone of her tender voice.
"Kiss me!"
"What is kissing?" asked the wondering child.
His godmother took him in her arms and embraced him many times. By and by he kissed her back again--at first awkwardly and shyly, then with all the strength of his warm little heart.
"You are better to cuddle than even my white kitten, I think. Promise me that you will never go away,""I must; but I will leave a present behind me,--something as good as myself to amuse you, --something that will take you wherever you want to go, and show you all that you wish to see.""What is it?"
"A traveling-cloak."
The Prince's countenance fell. "I don't want a cloak, for I never go out. Sometimes nurse hoists me on to the roof, and carries me round by the parapet; but that is all. I can't walk, you know, as she does.""The more reason why you should ride; and besides, this traveling-cloak----""Hush!--she's coming."
There sounded outside the room door a heavy step and a grumpy voice, and a rattle of plates and dishes.
"It's my nurse, and she is bringing my dinner; but I don't want dinner at all--I only want you. Will her coming drive you away, godmother?""Perhaps; but only for a little while. Never mind; all the bolts and bars in the world couldn't keep me out. I'd fly in at the window, or down through the chimney. Only wish for me, and Icome."
"Thank you," said Prince Dolor, but almost in a whisper, for he was very uneasy at what might happen next. His nurse and his godmother--what would they say to one another? how would they look at one another?--two such different faces: one harsh-lined, sullen, cross, and sad; the other sweet and bright and calm as a summer evening before the dark begins.
When the door was flung open, Prince Dolor shut his eyes, trembling all over; opening them again, he saw he need fear nothing--his lovely old godmother had melted away just like the rainbow out of the sky, as he had watched it many a time. Nobody but his nurse was in the room.
"What a muddle your Royal Highness is sitting in," said she sharply. "Such a heap of untidy books; and what's this rubbish?" knocking a little bundle that lay beside them.
"Oh, nothing, nothing--give it me!" cried the Prince, and, darting after it, he hid it under his pinafore, and then pushed it quickly into his pocket. Rubbish as it was, it was left in the place where she sat, and might be something belonging to her--his dear, kind godmother, whom already he loved with all his lonely, tender, passionate heart.
It was, though he did not know this, his wonderful traveling-cloak.
