“I crave your indulgence:  my nose itcheth cruelly.  What is the custom and usage in this emergence?  Prithee, speed, for ’tis but a little time that I can bear it.”

None smiled; but all were sore perplexed, and looked one to the other in deep tribulation for counsel.  But behold, here was a dead wall, and nothing in English history to tell how to get over it.  The Master of Ceremonies was not present:  there was no one who felt safe to venture upon this uncharted sea, or risk the attempt to solve this solemn problem.  Alas! there was no Hereditary Scratcher.  Meantime the tears had overflowed their banks, and begun to trickle down Tom’s cheeks.  His twitching nose was pleading more urgently than ever for relief.  At last nature broke down the barriers of etiquette:  Tom lifted up an inward prayer for pardon if he was doing wrong, and brought relief to the burdened hearts of his court by scratching his nose himself.

His meal being ended, a lord came and held before him a broad, shallow, golden dish with fragrant rosewater in it, to cleanse his mouth and fingers with; and my lord the Hereditary Diaperer stood by with a napkin for his use.  Tom gazed at the dish a puzzled moment or two, then raised it to his lips, and gravely took a draught.  Then he returned it to the waiting lord, and said—­

“Nay, it likes me not, my lord:  it hath a pretty flavour, but it wanteth strength.”

This new eccentricity of the prince’s ruined mind made all the hearts about him ache; but the sad sight moved none to merriment.

Tom’s next unconscious blunder was to get up and leave the table just when the chaplain had taken his stand behind his chair, and with uplifted hands, and closed, uplifted eyes, was in the act of beginning the blessing.  Still nobody seemed to perceive that the prince had done a thing unusual.

By his own request our small friend was now conducted to his private cabinet, and left there alone to his own devices.  Hanging upon hooks in the oaken wainscoting were the several pieces of a suit of shining steel armour, covered all over with beautiful designs exquisitely inlaid in gold.  This martial panoply belonged to the true prince—­a recent present from Madam Parr the Queen.  Tom put on the greaves, the gauntlets, the plumed helmet, and such other pieces as he could don without assistance, and for a while was minded to call for help and complete the matter, but bethought him of the nuts he had brought away from dinner, and the joy it would be to eat them with no crowd to eye him, and no Grand Hereditaries to pester him with undesired services; so he restored the pretty things to their several places, and soon was cracking nuts, and feeling almost naturally happy for the first time since God for his sins had made him a prince.  When the nuts were all gone, he stumbled upon some inviting books in a closet, among them one about the etiquette of the English court.  This was a prize.  He lay down upon a sumptuous divan, and proceeded to instruct himself with honest zeal.  Let us leave him there for the present.