breedeth gentleness and charity. {1}
The lights began to twinkle, it came on to rain, the wind rose,
and a raw and gusty night set in. The houseless prince, the
homeless heir to the throne of England, still moved on, drifting
deeper into the maze of squalid alleys where the swarming hives of
poverty and misery were massed together.
Suddenly a great drunken ruffian collared him and said–
“Out to this time of night again, and hast not brought a farthing
home, I warrant me! If it be so, an’ I do not break all the bones
in thy lean body, then am I not John Canty, but some other.”
The prince twisted himself loose, unconsciously brushed his
profaned shoulder, and eagerly said–
“Oh, art HIS father, truly? Sweet heaven grant it be so–then
wilt thou fetch him away and restore me!”
“HIS father? I know not what thou mean’st; I but know I am THY
father, as thou shalt soon have cause to–”
“Oh, jest not, palter not, delay not!–I am worn, I am wounded, I
can bear no more. Take me to the king my father, and he will make
thee rich beyond thy wildest dreams. Believe me, man, believe
me!–I speak no lie, but only the truth!–put forth thy hand and
save me! I am indeed the Prince of Wales!”
The man stared down, stupefied, upon the lad, then shook his head
and muttered–
“Gone stark mad as any Tom o’ Bedlam!”–then collared him once
more, and said with a coarse laugh and an oath, “But mad or no
mad, I and thy Gammer Canty will soon find where the soft places
in thy bones lie, or I’m no true man!”
With this he dragged the frantic and struggling prince away, and
disappeared up a front court followed by a delighted and noisy
swarm of human vermin.
Chapter V. Tom as a patrician.
Tom Canty, left alone in the prince’s cabinet, made good use of
his opportunity. He turned himself this way and that before the
great mirror, admiring his finery; then walked away, imitating the
prince’s high-bred carriage, and still observing results in the
glass. Next he drew the beautiful sword, and bowed, kissing the
blade, and laying it across his breast, as he had seen a noble
knight do, by way of salute to the lieutenant of the Tower, five
or six weeks before, when delivering the great lords of Norfolk
and Surrey into his hands for captivity. Tom played with the
jewelled dagger that hung upon his thigh; he examined the costly
and exquisite ornaments of the room; he tried each of the
sumptuous chairs, and thought how proud he would be if the Offal
Court herd could only peep in and see him in his grandeur. He
wondered if they would believe the marvellous tale he should tell
when he got home, or if they would shake their heads, and say his
overtaxed imagination had at last upset his reason.
At the end of half an hour it suddenly occurred to him that the
prince was gone a long time; then right away he began to feel
lonely; very soon he fell to listening and longing, and ceased to
toy with the pretty things about him; he grew uneasy, then
restless, then distressed. Suppose some one should come, and
catch him in the prince’s clothes, and the prince not there to
explain. Might they not hang him at once, and inquire into his
case afterward? He had heard that the great were prompt about
small matters. His fear rose higher and higher; and trembling he
softly opened the door to the antechamber, resolved to fly and
seek the prince, and, through him, protection and release. Six
gorgeous gentlemen-servants and two young pages of high degree,
clothed like butterflies, sprang to their feet and bowed low
before him. He stepped quickly back and shut the door. He said–
“Oh, they mock at me! They will go and tell. Oh! why came I here
to cast away my life?”
He walked up and down the floor, filled with nameless fears,
listening, starting at every trifling sound. Presently the door
swung open, and a silken page said–