of serenity and peace. The distant dogs howled, the melancholy
kine complained, and the winds went on raging, whilst furious
sheets of rain drove along the roof; but the Majesty of England
slept on, undisturbed, and the calf did the same, it being a
simple creature, and not easily troubled by storms or embarrassed
by sleeping with a king.
Chapter XIX. The Prince with the peasants.
When the King awoke in the early morning, he found that a wet but
thoughtful rat had crept into the place during the night and made
a cosy bed for itself in his bosom. Being disturbed now, it
scampered away. The boy smiled, and said, “Poor fool, why so
fearful? I am as forlorn as thou. ‘Twould be a sham in me to
hurt the helpless, who am myself so helpless. Moreover, I owe you
thanks for a good omen; for when a king has fallen so low that the
very rats do make a bed of him, it surely meaneth that his
fortunes be upon the turn, since it is plain he can no lower go.”
He got up and stepped out of the stall, and just then he heard the
sound of children’s voices. The barn door opened and a couple of
little girls came in. As soon as they saw him their talking and
laughing ceased, and they stopped and stood still, gazing at him
with strong curiosity; they presently began to whisper together,
then they approached nearer, and stopped again to gaze and
whisper. By-and-by they gathered courage and began to discuss him
aloud. One said–
“He hath a comely face.”
The other added–
“And pretty hair.”
“But is ill clothed enow.”
“And how starved he looketh.”
They came still nearer, sidling shyly around and about him,
examining him minutely from all points, as if he were some strange
new kind of animal, but warily and watchfully the while, as if
they half feared he might be a sort of animal that would bite,
upon occasion. Finally they halted before him, holding each
other’s hands for protection, and took a good satisfying stare
with their innocent eyes; then one of them plucked up all her
courage and inquired with honest directness–
“Who art thou, boy?”
“I am the King,” was the grave answer.
The children gave a little start, and their eyes spread themselves
wide open and remained so during a speechless half minute. Then
curiosity broke the silence–
“The KING? What King?”
“The King of England.”
The children looked at each other–then at him–then at each other
again–wonderingly, perplexedly; then one said–
“Didst hear him, Margery?–he said he is the King. Can that be
true?”
“How can it be else but true, Prissy? Would he say a lie? For
look you, Prissy, an’ it were not true, it WOULD be a lie. It
surely would be. Now think on’t. For all things that be not
true, be lies–thou canst make nought else out of it.”
It was a good tight argument, without a leak in it anywhere; and
it left Prissy’s half-doubts not a leg to stand on. She
considered a moment, then put the King upon his honour with the
simple remark–
“If thou art truly the King, then I believe thee.”
“I am truly the King.”
This settled the matter. His Majesty’s royalty was accepted
without further question or discussion, and the two little girls
began at once to inquire into how he came to be where he was, and
how he came to be so unroyally clad, and whither he was bound, and
all about his affairs. It was a mighty relief to him to pour out
his troubles where they would not be scoffed at or doubted; so he
told his tale with feeling, forgetting even his hunger for the
time; and it was received with the deepest and tenderest sympathy
by the gentle little maids. But when he got down to his latest
experiences and they learned how long he had been without food,
they cut him short and hurried him away to the farmhouse to find a
breakfast for him.
The King was cheerful and happy now, and said to himself, “When I
am come to mine own again, I will always honour little children,