All of a sudden, there arose a terrible uproar in the room where the children were at play.  Angry shouts and shrill cries of alarm were mixed up together; while the voices of elder persons were likewise heard, trying to restore order among the children.  The king, and everybody else at table, looked aghast; for perhaps the tumult made them think that a general rebellion had broken out.

“Mercy on us!” muttered Sir Oliver; “that graceless nephew of mine is in some mischief or other.  The naughty little whelp!”

Getting up from table, he ran to see what was the matter, followed by many of the guests, and the king among them.  They all crowded to the door of the play-room.

On looking in, they beheld the little Prince Charles, with his rich dress all torn, and covered with the dust of the floor.  His royal blood was streaming from his nose in great abundance.  He gazed at Noll with a mixture of rage and affright, and at the same time a puzzled expression, as if he could not understand how any mortal boy should dare to give him a beating.  As for Noll, there stood his sturdy little figure, bold as a lion, looking as if he were ready to fight not only the prince, but the king and kingdom too.

“You little villain!” cried his uncle.  “What have you been about?  Down on your knees, this instant, and ask the prince’s pardon.  How dare you lay your hands on the king’s Majesty’s royal son?”

“He struck me first,” grumbled the valiant little Noll; “and I’ve only given him his due.”

Sir Oliver and the guests lifted up their hands in astonishment and horror.  No punishment seemed severe enough for this wicked little varlet, who had dared to resent a blow from the king’s own son.  Some of the courtiers were of opinion that Noll should be sent prisoner to the Tower of London, and brought to trial for high treason.  Others, in their great zeal for the king’s service, were about to lay hands on the boy, and chastise him in the royal presence.

But King James, who sometimes showed a good deal of sagacity, ordered them to desist.

“Thou art a bold boy,” said he, looking fixedly at little Noll; “and, if thou live to be a man, my son Charlie would do wisely to be friends with thee.”

“I never will!” cried the little prince, stamping his foot.

“Peace, Charlie, peace!” said the king; then addressing Sir Oliver and the attendants, “Harm not the urchin; for he has taught my son a good lesson, if Heaven do but give him grace to profit by it.  Hereafter, should he be tempted to tyrannize over the stubborn race of Englishmen, let him remember little Noll Cromwell, and his own bloody nose!”

So the king finished his dinner and departed; and, for many a long year, the childish quarrel between Prince Charles and Noll Cromwell was forgotten.  The prince, indeed, might have lived a happier life, and have met a more peaceful death, had he remembered that quarrel, and the moral which his father drew from it.  But, when old King James was dead, and Charles sat upon his throne, he seemed to forget that he was but a man, and that his meanest subjects were men as well as he.  He wished to have the property and lives of the people of England entirely at his own disposal.  But the Puritans, and all who loved liberty, rose against him, and beat him in many battles, and pulled him down from his throne.