"Bring the cloak out of the rubbish cupboard, and shake the dust off it, quick!" said she to Prince Dolor. "Spread it out on the floor, and wait till the split closes and the edges turn up. Then open the skylight, set yourself on the cloak, and say, 'Abracadabra, dum dum dum,' and—see what will happen!"
The Prince burst into a fit of laughing. It all seemed so exceedingly silly, and his godmother laughed too.
"Believe me or not, it doesn't matter," said she. "Here is the cloak; when you want to go travelling on it, say, Abracadabra dum dum dum; when you want to come back again, say, Abracadabra tum tum ti. That's all, good-bye."
A puff of pleasant air and his godmother was gone.
"How rosy your Royal Highness's cheeks are! You seem to have grown better," said the nurse entering the room.
"I have," replied the Prince—he felt kindly, even to his grim nurse. "Let me have my dinner, and you go to your sewing."
The instant she was gone, Prince Dolor sprang from his sofa, and with one or two of his frog-like jumps, he reached the cupboard where he kept his toys, and looked everywhere for his traveling-cloak.
Alas! It was not there.
While he was ill, his nurse, had made a grand clearance of all his "rubbish," all the treasures of his baby days, which he could not bear to part with. Though he seldom played with them now, he liked just to feel they were there.
They were all gone! and with them the traveling cloak. He sat down on the floor, looking at the empty shelves, then burst out sobbing as if his heart would break.