A ringing voice came through the murky air—­

“Thou shalt not!—­and this day the end of that law is come!”

All turned, and saw the fantastic figure of the little King approaching hurriedly; as it emerged into the light and was clearly revealed, a general explosion of inquiries broke out—­

“Who is it?  What is it?  Who art thou, manikin?”

The boy stood unconfused in the midst of all those surprised and questioning eyes, and answered with princely dignity—­

“I am Edward, King of England.”

A wild burst of laughter followed, partly of derision and partly of delight in the excellence of the joke.  The King was stung.  He said sharply—­

“Ye mannerless vagrants, is this your recognition of the royal boon I have promised?”

He said more, with angry voice and excited gesture, but it was lost in a whirlwind of laughter and mocking exclamations.  ‘John Hobbs’ made several attempts to make himself heard above the din, and at last succeeded—­saying—­

“Mates, he is my son, a dreamer, a fool, and stark mad—­mind him not—­he thinketh he is the King.”

“I am the King,” said Edward, turning toward him, “as thou shalt know to thy cost, in good time.  Thou hast confessed a murder—­thou shalt swing for it.”

“Thou’lt betray me?—­Thou?  An’ I get my hands upon thee—­”

“Tut-tut!” said the burley Ruffler, interposing in time to save the King, and emphasising this service by knocking Hobbs down with his fist, “hast respect for neither Kings nor Rufflers?  An’ thou insult my presence so again, I’ll hang thee up myself.”  Then he said to his Majesty, “Thou must make no threats against thy mates, lad; and thou must guard thy tongue from saying evil of them elsewhere.  Be King, if it please thy mad humour, but be not harmful in it.  Sink the title thou hast uttered—­’tis treason; we be bad men in some few trifling ways, but none among us is so base as to be traitor to his King; we be loving and loyal hearts, in that regard.  Note if I speak truth.  Now—­all together:  ’Long live Edward, King of England!’”

“Long live Edward, king of England!”

The response came with such a thundergust from the motley crew that the crazy building vibrated to the sound.  The little King’s face lighted with pleasure for an instant, and he slightly inclined his head, and said with grave simplicity—­

“I thank you, my good people.”

This unexpected result threw the company into convulsions of merriment.  When something like quiet was presently come again, the Ruffler said, firmly, but with an accent of good nature—­

“Drop it, boy, ’tis not wise, nor well.  Humour thy fancy, if thou must, but choose some other title.”

A tinker shrieked out a suggestion—­

“Foo-foo the First, King of the Mooncalves!”