“When I am grown to manhood, and am a belted knight with noble gentlemen of mine own to attend me, you shall be my very first esquire, Paul,” said the prince emphatically; “and we will ride through the world together, seeking adventures which shall make all men wonder when they hear of them.  And when I am king you shall be my first counsellor and greatest lord.  I will degrade from office and dignity those proud nobles who have been traitors at heart to my kingly father, and to you I will give their broad lands and high titles.  We will thus be comrades and friends through life.  You would never desert me, would you, Paul?”

“I would lay down my life for your highness,” cried Paul with enthusiasm.  “I will live and die true to the Red Rose—­to the sign of the silver swan.”

The little prince’s eyes kindled.

“I believe you would.  I love you, Paul, and methinks that you would love me too.  I would that I could take you with me now to be my friend and comrade through life; but perchance your lady mother could ill spare you, by what you say.  I know what a mother’s love is like.”

Paul’s face was grave.  For the first time in his life he was confronted by the problem of a divided duty—­that problem which troubles us all more or less at some time in our history.

“I would gladly go with your highness to the world’s end,” he said.  “I should love to live and die at your side; but I doubt me if it would not be cruel to my mother.  She sometimes tells me that her life would be a lone one without me.”

“And you must stay with her,” said the prince with decision; “at least so long as you are a child.  When you are a grown man it will be different.  Some day I will send for you, and you shall be my first and best friend; but it cannot be now.  My mother might not approve my choice, and yours might not let you go.  Princes as well as other men have to wait for what they want”—­and the child sighed—­“but some day our turn will come.”

Then they resumed their play, and the hoary wood resounded to the merry shouts of the boys as they ran hither and thither in active sport, till the little prince was fairly tired out, though, still exulting in his escape from maternal vigilance, he stoutly protested against going back.

“See, good Paul,” he said, “here is a right commodious hollow tree, heaped with last year’s dead leaves.  I will rest awhile hidden away here, where none will find me were they to look for me ever so.  And if you could find and bring me here a draught of water from the brook or from some spring, I should be ever grateful.  I am sore athirst and weary, too.”