“‘If it please you, Sire,’ said Winfred, ‘I would like a burro.’
“‘A burro?’ said the King. ‘What will you do with a burro?’
“‘Ride him,’ said Winfred.
“At first the King laughed at the idea of seeing his son and heir astride a donkey, but when he found that the boy was serious he went into a rage and Winfred crept away, miserable and frightened. Out into the Park he went and lay down under a large oak, where he wept in a most unprincely manner. He wept until the tears were smeared all over his silk collar and ran down his neck. You should have seen him; one would never have guessed that it was a prince sprawled there, for all the world like a badly trained baby. He really was unhappy, though, so you could not blame him altogether.
“He cried and cried until he heard a rustling above him in the tree. He looked up, and perched on a branch just above his head was a small person, not a great deal larger than a pocket-knife. It was a girl-person, dressed in bright green, with the tiniest of green hats on her bit of sunny hair. She looked down at Winfred and frowned.
“‘What do you want?’ demanded Winfred.
“‘Stop crying,’ said the girl-person.
“‘You are disrespectful,’ said Winfred. ‘I am the Prince.’
“‘I don’t care who you are,’ said the girl-person. ‘I wish you would stop crying.’
“Winfred was so surprised at her lack of respect that he forgot to cry for a moment, but he soon began again.