When Prince Ember said farewell to Creeping Shadow and stepped into the Elf’s house, he found himself in a curious room whose walls were grey with ash, whose floor was covered so thick with it, that his feet sank into it, and made no sound. It was as if he trod on softest down.

In the middle of the room stood the Elf, with pudgy hand extended. “Welcome, good Prince,” he said heartily. “You come on the business of the Shadow Witch, for I know the knock of her servant, Creeping Shadow. What is it that you desire?”

“I am on my way to deliver the Shadow Witch,” the Prince made answer, taking his hand. “The Wise One has bade me ask of you a certain marvelous Cloak of Ash, to conceal me from my enemies. He says that here only is the secret of its making known, and that you will not refuse to provide me with it.”

“The Wise One has spoken truly,” returned the Elf, “but he has doubtless told you also that you must wait while this Cloak is woven especially for you.”

“That he has,” replied Prince Ember. “But let it be done quickly, I beg of you, for who can tell what the Shadow Witch may suffer at the hands of her brother if my coming be long delayed.”“Not a moment shall be lost,” the Elf assured him. Still holding him by the hand, he drew him to a narrow door at the farther end of the room. He opened it, and revealed beyond it the Prince saw a vast chamber, filled with elves hurrying silently to and fro on tasks strange to him. The moment their master entered with Prince Ember, every elf stood still ready to hear and obey whatever command might be given to them.

“Where is the Weaver of the Cloak?” inquired the Elf. “There is work for him to do.”

Instantly a very ancient elf separated himself from his companions, and came to stand before the Elf of the Borderland. “I am ready, master,” he said.

“The Cloak is to be for this Prince,” the Elf told him. “Use your best skill in the weaving, so that it may be potent against his enemies, for much depends upon it.”

“It will not fail him, master,” responded the Weaver confidently. His keen old eyes swept the Prince from head to foot. He needed to take no other measure. Then he turned to a dim loom beside the wall, and standing before it, he began to spread the fairy warp under the watchful eye of the Elf. As he did so the elves came hurrying noiselessly with the magic ash which was to fill it.

Deftly the Weaver began to weave, crooning the mystic weaving-song meanwhile, so that the magic of its words might sink into every part of the Cloak, and make its power certain. He feared not to weave it under the eyes of him who should receive it, for he knew well that he who wears the Cloak, may see it woven, and hear the song, but no sooner has the Cloak fallen upon his shoulders than he forgets what his eyes had beheld and his ears heard. Thus the secret of the ancient Weaver remains with the elves of the Borderland.

Steadily the Cloak of Ash grew under the skilful hands of the Weaver, steadily the Prince watched the shuttle come and go. Never once did the ancient Weaver rest; never once did he cease to sing his mystic song, nor did the elves pause as they came and went, bringing the magic ash for the Cloak’s fashioning.

At last the moment came when the Weaver’s shuttle stopped, the song ceased and the elves stood still. The Elf turned to the Prince. “The Cloak is finished,” he said.

He bent down and lifted it soft and silvery from the loom, and Prince Ember stretched eager hands to receive it.

“Give heed to my words,” the Elf admonished him, as he delivered it to him. “In the Cave of Darkness only will you be endangered by the spells of the Wizard himself. There only he has power, and he never leaves its shelter and the weapons of enchantment which it contains. But in the lands without he has powerful and evil friends, who will not be slow to help him against his enemies if he desires it. From all but one of these the Cloak will conceal you.”

The Elf paused for a moment and then went on more earnestly. “Though your foes will not behold you, yet you must be on your guard against them, for who can say what traps they may set for you, what snares may await you. Beware, therefore, of the Ash Goblin. He is small of stature, but he cannot safely be despised, for he is very cunning. He will not only assist the Wizard gladly because he hates his sister, but for some grudge, also, that he bears to the dwellers in the Land of Fire, he will not fail to wreak his spite on any who comes from thence.”

“I will not forget your warning,” Prince Ember promised him.

“Beware, also, of Curling Smoke,” the Elf continued. “None more wicked and dreadful than he inhabits the lands you must pass through. He travels far and wide, and because Prince Radiance lately conquered and scattered him by the power of his Sword of Flames, he has vowed to be revenged upon one and all who enter here from the land of the good Fire Fairies.”Again Prince Ember assured him that he would remember.

The Elf drew closer to him and laid his hand upon the Prince’s arm. “Beware,” he adjured him solemnly, “Beware of the Wind in the Chimney. Against him only the Cloak may not protect you. His eyes are keen to pierce disguises. His hands are strong to break down spells. See to it that he does not snatch from you in an unguarded moment this sheltering Cloak.”

Once more the Prince gave his promise, and stretching his hands in gratitude to the giver of so priceless a treasure, poured out his thanks.

But the Elf checked him. “Speak not of it,” he protested kindly. “The elves of the Borderland rejoice to have a part in any noble undertaking. Only succeed, and we are well repaid.”“The Wise One has said that I shall be victorious,” declared the Prince confidently. “And when my task is done, and the Shadow Witch has returned in freedom to her own land, I shall preserve as my chief treasure this marvelous Cloak, which you have been at such pains to weave for me.”

The Elf smiled and shook his head. “Not so,” he answered. “None takes the Cloak of Ash from the Borderland.”

“Then I will return it safe to your hands,” the Prince assured him.

“There will be no need,” replied the Elf, “for the Cloak perishes when its work is done.”

With these words he led him from the dim room where the marvel had been wrought, and brought him to the outer threshold of his house. There the Prince bade him farewell.

“Good fortune go with you,” responded the friendly Elf in a cautious undertone. “Put on the Cloak now, and go forth.”

In obedience to his words, Prince Ember threw the Cloak about him and fastened it securely. As its soft and delicate folds enveloped him, the Cloak became invisible at the same time that the Prince himself became fully concealed by it.

He lifted the latch and opened the door and passed silently out into the Borderland.