It was easy to think this; but it was hard to brace himself up to try it.  Three times he stretched his hand a little way out into the dark, gingerly; and snatched it suddenly back, with a gasp—­not because it had encountered anything, but because he had felt so sure it was just going to.  But the fourth time, he groped a little further, and his hand lightly swept against something soft and warm.  This petrified him, nearly, with fright; his mind was in such a state that he could imagine the thing to be nothing else than a corpse, newly dead and still warm.  He thought he would rather die than touch it again.  But he thought this false thought because he did not know the immortal strength of human curiosity.  In no long time his hand was tremblingly groping again —­against his judgment, and without his consent—­but groping persistently on, just the same.  It encountered a bunch of long hair; he shuddered, but followed up the hair and found what seemed to be a warm rope; followed up the rope and found an innocent calf!—­for the rope was not a rope at all, but the calf’s tail.

The King was cordially ashamed of himself for having gotten all that fright and misery out of so paltry a matter as a slumbering calf; but he need not have felt so about it, for it was not the calf that frightened him, but a dreadful non-existent something which the calf stood for; and any other boy, in those old superstitious times, would have acted and suffered just as he had done.

The King was not only delighted to find that the creature was only a calf, but delighted to have the calf’s company; for he had been feeling so lonesome and friendless that the company and comradeship of even this humble animal were welcome.  And he had been so buffeted, so rudely entreated by his own kind, that it was a real comfort to him to feel that he was at last in the society of a fellow-creature that had at least a soft heart and a gentle spirit, whatever loftier attributes might be lacking.  So he resolved to waive rank and make friends with the calf.

While stroking its sleek warm back—­for it lay near him and within easy reach—­it occurred to him that this calf might be utilised in more ways than one.  Whereupon he re-arranged his bed, spreading it down close to the calf; then he cuddled himself up to the calf’s back, drew the covers up over himself and his friend, and in a minute or two was as warm and comfortable as he had ever been in the downy couches of the regal palace of Westminster.

Pleasant thoughts came at once; life took on a cheerfuller seeming.  He was free of the bonds of servitude and crime, free of the companionship of base and brutal outlaws; he was warm; he was sheltered; in a word, he was happy.  The night wind was rising; it swept by in fitful gusts that made the old barn quake and rattle, then its forces died down at intervals, and went moaning and wailing around corners and projections —­but it was all music to the King, now that