A piece of rag, which had somehow got into a king's wardrobe, said to a ribbon on the person of a valet, "What do you think I am?"
"To be sure," said the ribbon, "a piece of rag torn from some old garment."
"I am nothing of the kind," said the rag; "I am a rare ribbon of the cut and colour I am; and the king is proud of having me in his wardrobe."
"What do you think I am?" said the ribbon.
"To be sure," said the other, "a piece of rag torn from some old garment to suit the fancy of the servant who wears you."
"Alas!" cried the rag, "Place hides pedigree."