The gentle Lady Stukely, however, was not one of these.  Her heart sank sometimes when she heard the talk of her bold husband and warlike sons.  They had all three of them fought for the king at the first battle, or rather skirmish, at St. Albans four years before, and were ardent followers and adherents of the Red Rose of Lancaster.  Her husband had received knighthood at the monarch’s hands on the eve of the battle, and was prepared to lay down his life in the cause if it should become necessary to do so.

But if rumours of strife to come, and terrible pictures of bloodshed, sometimes made her gentle spirit quail, she had always one consolation in the thought that her youngest child, her little Paul, would not be torn from her side to follow the bloody trail of war.  Her two first-born sons, the younger of whom was twenty-two, had long been very finished young gallants, trained to every military enterprise, and eager to unsheathe their swords whenever rumour told of slight to King Henry or his haughty queen from the proud Protector, who for a time had held the reins of government, though exercising his powers in the name of the afflicted king.

But Paul was still a child, not yet quite eight years old; and of the five fair children born to her between him and his brothers, not one had lived to complete his or her third year, so that the mother’s heart twined itself the more firmly about this last brave boy, and in the frequent absences of husband and sons upon matters of business or pleasure, the companionship between the pair was almost unbroken, and they loved each other with a devotion that may easily be understood.  Paul felt no awe of his gentle mother, but rather looked upon himself as her champion and defender in his father’s absence.  It was no new thing for him to long for manhood and its privileges; for would not these make him all the stouter protector to his mother?

But she was wont when he spoke such words to check him by gentle counsel and motherly sympathy, and now she took his hand in hers and patted it smilingly as she replied: 

“Ah, my little Paul, time flies fast, and you will be a man before very long now; but be content for these next days to be yet a child.  Perchance the little prince will pay more heed to such as are of his age.

“You may chance to win a smile from him, even if the nobles and gentlemen regard not children.”

Paul’s face brightened instantly.

“O mother, yes; I had not thought of that.  But I do so long to see the little prince.  Oh, if he were to notice me—­to speak to me—­how happy I should be!  We were born on the same day, were we not, dear mother—­on the thirteenth of October?  But I am older, am I not?”

“Yes, my child; by two years.  You will be eight upon your next birthday, and he six.  But I hear he is such a forward, kingly, noble child, that both in appearance and discretion he is far in advance of his actual age.  Those who are brought up with royalty early learn the lessons which to others come but with advancing years.”