So the Prince was very unhappy and wished he could run away, but Peter had never been so happy in his life. He worked like a bee all day, and loved to watch the Christmas gifts grow and blossom.
“They grow so slowly,” the Prince would say. “I thought I should have a bushel of new toys every month and not one have I had yet.” Then he would cry, and Peter would try to comfort him.
At last one day the Prince found a ladder in the tool house. The Monks were in the chapel, singing Christmas carols, and Peter was tuning the penny trumpets. It was a fine chance to run away. The Prince put the ladder against the Santa Claus gate, climbed up to the top, and slid down on the outside.
III—THE PRETTIEST DOLL
It was nearly Christmas now, and most of the toys had been gathered. The rocking-horses were still growing, and a few of the largest dolls; but the tops, balls, guns, blocks, and drums were all packed in baskets ready for Santa Claus.
One morning Peter was in the wax-doll bed, dusting the dolls. All of a sudden he heard a sweet voice saying, “Oh, Peter!”
He thought at first it was one of the dolls, but they could only say “Papa!” and “Mamma!”
“Here I am, Peter,” said the voice again, and what do you suppose Peter saw? It was his own dear little lame sister.
She was not any taller than the dolls around her, and she looked just like one of them with her pink cheeks and yellow hair. She stood there on her crutches, poor little thing, smiling lovingly at Peter.