With no one to bother him, he rose in the morning and with the merry little boy went swimming and wading. They played ball and built forts, climbed trees and did all the other things that everyday little boys do. The Prince thought everybody in the palace mad, for whenever he mentioned his friend, whom he called Orin whenever he talked to him, the Courtiers looked at him sadly and shook their heads. "His poor mother!" they would remark, casting their eyes upward, or, "Poor, dear lad!" This set the two little boys laughing and every laugh warmed the little Prince's heart till finally, well, finally the cold in his heart was entirely gone.
He grew strong and healthy like Orin and merry and good-tempered like Orin; indeed, he even grew to look like him. The old wise man rubbed his hands with delight, for his charm was working beautifully. Then—
One morning when the Prince wakened, there in bed beside him was a strange little boy. He had a pale, fretful face and looked very familiar. "Where can Orin be?" muttered the Prince, staring all around the room. At this the little boy stirred and slowly opened his eyes. "I've certainly seen him before!" thought the Prince. "Of course, you have!" Yawning and stretching his arms, the boy answered the Prince's unspoken thought. "But where's Orin?" The little Prince sat straight up in bed and looked at the cross little boy with great disfavor. "Simpleton, fetch me my clothes!" snapped the boy in a voice that the Prince just knew he had heard before. "Where's Orin?" The strange boy made a face. "If you want to see Orin—look in the glass—blockhead!"
Springing out of bed, the little Prince peered into the mirror and there, sure enough, was Orin. "But who are you?" he gasped, turning around. "I'm you, or, at least, I used to be you!" said the little boy with the fretful face, which so surprised the Prince that he could do nothing but stare. Why, sure enough, it was he—and that voice—why, of course, that was just the way he used to speak to the ser-
