“As certain as hydraulics can make me, sir,” and the lesser man began drawing lines with his stick in the dust of the path in demonstration.

The opportunity was irresistible, and the hook from above deftly caught the band of the feathered hat of the taller man, slowly and steadily drawing it up, entirely unperceived by the owner, on whose wig it had rested, and who was bending over the dust-traced diagram in absorbed attention.  Peregrine deferred his hobgoblin laughter, for success emboldened him farther.  Detaching the hat from his hook, and depositing it safely in a fork of the tree, he next cautiously let down his line, and contrived to get a strong hold of one of the black locks on the top of the wig, just as the wearer was observing, “Oliver’s Battery, eh?  A cupola with a light to be seen out at sea?  Our sailors will make another St. Christopher of you!  Ha! what’s this’”

For feeling as if a branch were touching the structure on his head, he had stepped forward, thus favouring Peregrine’s manoeuvres so that the wig dangled in the air, suddenly disclosing the bare skull of a very dark man, with such marked features that it needed not the gentlemen’s outcry to show the boy who was the victim of his mischief.

“What imp is there?” cried the King, spying up into the tree, while his attendant drew his sword, “How now?” as Peregrine half climbed, half tumbled down, bringing hat and wig with him, and, whether by design or accident, fell at his feet.  “Will nothing content you but royal game?” he continued laughing, as Sir Christopher Wren helped him to resume his wig.  “Why, what a shrimp it is! a mere goblin sprite!  What’s thy name, master wag?”

“Peregrine Oakshott, so please you,” the boy answered, raising himself with a face scared indeed, but retaining its queer impishness.  “Sir, I never guessed—­”

“Young rogue! have you our licence to waylay our loyal subjects?” demanded the King, with an affected fierceness.  “Know you not ’tis rank treason to discrown our sacred Majesty, far more to dishevel or destroy our locks?  Why!  I might behead you on the spot.”  To his great amazement the boy, with an eager face and clasped hands, exclaimed, “O sir!  Oh, please your Majesty, do so.”

“Do so!” exclaimed the King astounded.  “Didst hear what I said?”

“Yes, sir!  You said it was a beheading matter, and I’m willing, sir.”

“Of all the petitions that ever were made to me, this is the strangest!” exclaimed Charles.  “An urchin like this weary of life!  What next?  So,” with a wink to his companions, “Peregrine Oakshott, we condemn thee for high treason against our most sacred Majesty’s beaver and periwig, and sentence thee to die by having thine head severed from thy body.  Kneel down, open thy collar, bare thy neck.  Ay, so, lay thy neck across that bough.  Killigrew, do thy duty.”

To the general surprise, the boy complied with all these directions, never flinching nor showing sign of fear, except that his lips were set and his cheek whitened.  As he knelt, with closed eyes, the flat cold blade descended on his neck, the tension relaxed, and he sank!