g2 PRINCE PRIGIO.

 

patches; it could no longer catch birds, nor
even mice, and there was nobody to give it
milk. But cats do not look far into the future ;
and this old black cat—Frank was his name—
had got a breakfast somehow, and was happy
in the sun. The prince stood and looked at
him pityingly, and he thought that even a sick
old cat was, in some ways, happier than most
men.

“‘ Well,” said the prince at last, ‘‘he could
not live long anyway, and it must be done.
He will feel nothing.”

Then he drew the sword of sharpness, and
with one turn of his wrist cut the cat’s head
clean off.

It did not at once change into a beautiful young
lady, as perhaps you expect; no, that was im-
probable, and, as the prince was in love already,
would have been vastly inconvenient. The dead.
cat lay there, like any common cat.

Then the prince built up a heap of straw,
with wood on it; and there he laid poor
puss, and set fire to the pile. Very soon
there was nothing of old black Frank left but
‘ashes !

Then the prince ran upstairs to the fairy
cupboard, his heart beating loudly with excite-
ment. The sun was shining through the
arrow-shot window; all the yellow motes were
dancing’ in its rays. The light fell on the
strange heaps of fairy things—talismans and