of the kings of England, henceforth while the throne shall last.’
The boon was granted, as your Majesty knoweth; and there hath been
no time, these four hundred years, that that line has failed of an
heir; and so, even unto this day, the head of that ancient house
still weareth his hat or helm before the King’s Majesty, without
let or hindrance, and this none other may do. {3} Invoking this
precedent in aid of my prayer, I beseech the King to grant to me
but this one grace and privilege–to my more than sufficient
reward–and none other, to wit: that I and my heirs, for ever,
may SIT in the presence of the Majesty of England!”
“Rise, Sir Miles Hendon, Knight,” said the King, gravely–giving
the accolade with Hendon’s sword–“rise, and seat thyself. Thy
petition is granted. Whilst England remains, and the crown
continues, the privilege shall not lapse.”
His Majesty walked apart, musing, and Hendon dropped into a chair
at table, observing to himself, “‘Twas a brave thought, and hath
wrought me a mighty deliverance; my legs are grievously wearied.
An I had not thought of that, I must have had to stand for weeks,
till my poor lad’s wits are cured.” After a little, he went on,
“And so I am become a knight of the Kingdom of Dreams and Shadows!
A most odd and strange position, truly, for one so matter-of-fact
as I. I will not laugh–no, God forbid, for this thing which is
so substanceless to me is REAL to him. And to me, also, in one
way, it is not a falsity, for it reflects with truth the sweet and
generous spirit that is in him.” After a pause: “Ah, what if he
should call me by my fine title before folk!–there’d be a merry
contrast betwixt my glory and my raiment! But no matter, let him
call me what he will, so it please him; I shall be content.”
Chapter XIII. The disappearance of the Prince.
A heavy drowsiness presently fell upon the two comrades. The King
said–
“Remove these rags”–meaning his clothing.
Hendon disapparelled the boy without dissent or remark, tucked him
up in bed, then glanced about the room, saying to himself,
ruefully, “He hath taken my bed again, as before–marry, what
shall _I_ do?” The little King observed his perplexity, and
dissipated it with a word. He said, sleepily–
“Thou wilt sleep athwart the door, and guard it.” In a moment
more he was out of his troubles, in a deep slumber.
“Dear heart, he should have been born a king!” muttered Hendon,
admiringly; “he playeth the part to a marvel.”
Then he stretched himself across the door, on the floor, saying
contentedly–
“I have lodged worse for seven years; ‘twould be but ill gratitude
to Him above to find fault with this.”
He dropped asleep as the dawn appeared. Toward noon he rose,
uncovered his unconscious ward–a section at a time–and took his
measure with a string. The King awoke, just as he had completed
his work, complained of the cold, and asked what he was doing.
“‘Tis done, now, my liege,” said Hendon; “I have a bit of business
outside, but will presently return; sleep thou again–thou needest
it. There–let me cover thy head also–thou’lt be warm the
sooner.”
The King was back in dreamland before this speech was ended.
Miles slipped softly out, and slipped as softly in again, in the
course of thirty or forty minutes, with a complete second-hand
suit of boy’s clothing, of cheap material, and showing signs of
wear; but tidy, and suited to the season of the year. He seated
himself, and began to overhaul his purchase, mumbling to himself–
“A longer purse would have got a better sort, but when one has not
the long purse one must be content with what a short one may do–
“‘There was a woman in our town,
In our town did dwell–‘
“He stirred, methinks–I must sing in a less thunderous key; ’tis
not good to mar his sleep, with this journey before him, and he so
wearied out, poor chap . . . This garment–’tis well enough–a
stitch here and another one there will set it aright. This other