anywhere, and utter silence prevailed. The youth entered the
barn, the King following eagerly upon his heels. No one there!
The King shot a surprised and suspicious glance at the youth, and
asked–
“Where is he?”
A mocking laugh was his answer. The King was in a rage in a
moment; he seized a billet of wood and was in the act of charging
upon the youth when another mocking laugh fell upon his ear. It
was from the lame ruffian who had been following at a distance.
The King turned and said angrily–
“Who art thou? What is thy business here?”
“Leave thy foolery,” said the man, “and quiet thyself. My
disguise is none so good that thou canst pretend thou knowest not
thy father through it.”
“Thou art not my father. I know thee not. I am the King. If
thou hast hid my servant, find him for me, or thou shalt sup
sorrow for what thou hast done.”
John Canty replied, in a stern and measured voice–
“It is plain thou art mad, and I am loath to punish thee; but if
thou provoke me, I must. Thy prating doth no harm here, where
there are no ears that need to mind thy follies; yet it is well to
practise thy tongue to wary speech, that it may do no hurt when
our quarters change. I have done a murder, and may not tarry at
home–neither shalt thou, seeing I need thy service. My name is
changed, for wise reasons; it is Hobbs–John Hobbs; thine is Jack-
-charge thy memory accordingly. Now, then, speak. Where is thy
mother? Where are thy sisters? They came not to the place
appointed–knowest thou whither they went?”
The King answered sullenly–
“Trouble me not with these riddles. My mother is dead; my sisters
are in the palace.”
The youth near by burst into a derisive laugh, and the King would
have assaulted him, but Canty–or Hobbs, as he now called himself-
-prevented him, and said–
“Peace, Hugo, vex him not; his mind is astray, and thy ways fret
him. Sit thee down, Jack, and quiet thyself; thou shalt have a
morsel to eat, anon.”
Hobbs and Hugo fell to talking together, in low voices, and the
King removed himself as far as he could from their disagreeable
company. He withdrew into the twilight of the farther end of the
barn, where he found the earthen floor bedded a foot deep with
straw. He lay down here, drew straw over himself in lieu of
blankets, and was soon absorbed in thinking. He had many griefs,
but the minor ones were swept almost into forgetfulness by the
supreme one, the loss of his father. To the rest of the world the
name of Henry VIII. brought a shiver, and suggested an ogre whose
nostrils breathed destruction and whose hand dealt scourgings and
death; but to this boy the name brought only sensations of
pleasure; the figure it invoked wore a countenance that was all
gentleness and affection. He called to mind a long succession of
loving passages between his father and himself, and dwelt fondly
upon them, his unstinted tears attesting how deep and real was the
grief that possessed his heart. As the afternoon wasted away, the
lad, wearied with his troubles, sank gradually into a tranquil and
healing slumber.
After a considerable time–he could not tell how long–his senses
struggled to a half-consciousness, and as he lay with closed eyes
vaguely wondering where he was and what had been happening, he
noted a murmurous sound, the sullen beating of rain upon the roof.
A snug sense of comfort stole over him, which was rudely broken,
the next moment, by a chorus of piping cackles and coarse
laughter. It startled him disagreeably, and he unmuffled his head
to see whence this interruption proceeded. A grim and unsightly
picture met his eye. A bright fire was burning in the middle of
the floor, at the other end of the barn; and around it, and lit
weirdly up by the red glare, lolled and sprawled the motliest
company of tattered gutter-scum and ruffians, of both sexes, he
had ever read or dreamed of. There were huge stalwart men, brown