“Then will I utter it.  Thou hast the same hair, the same eyes, the same voice and manner, the same form and stature, the same face and countenance that I bear.  Fared we forth naked, there is none could say which was you, and which the Prince of Wales.  And, now that I am clothed as thou wert clothed, it seemeth I should be able the more nearly to feel as thou didst when the brute soldier—­Hark ye, is not this a bruise upon your hand?”

“Yes; but it is a slight thing, and your worship knoweth that the poor man-at-arms—­”

“Peace!  It was a shameful thing and a cruel!” cried the little prince, stamping his bare foot.  “If the King—­Stir not a step till I come again!  It is a command!”

In a moment he had snatched up and put away an article of national importance that lay upon a table, and was out at the door and flying through the palace grounds in his bannered rags, with a hot face and glowing eyes.  As soon as he reached the great gate, he seized the bars, and tried to shake them, shouting—­

“Open!  Unbar the gates!”

The soldier that had maltreated Tom obeyed promptly; and as the prince burst through the portal, half-smothered with royal wrath, the soldier fetched him a sounding box on the ear that sent him whirling to the roadway, and said—­

“Take that, thou beggar’s spawn, for what thou got’st me from his Highness!”

The crowd roared with laughter.  The prince picked himself out of the mud, and made fiercely at the sentry, shouting—­

“I am the Prince of Wales, my person is sacred; and thou shalt hang for laying thy hand upon me!”

The soldier brought his halberd to a present-arms and said mockingly—­

“I salute your gracious Highness.”  Then angrily—­“Be off, thou crazy rubbish!”

Here the jeering crowd closed round the poor little prince, and hustled him far down the road, hooting him, and shouting—­

“Way for his Royal Highness!  Way for the Prince of Wales!”

Chapter IV.  The Prince’s troubles begin.

After hours of persistent pursuit and persecution, the little prince was at last deserted by the rabble and left to himself.  As long as he had been able to rage against the mob, and threaten it royally, and royally utter commands that were good stuff to laugh at, he was very entertaining; but when weariness finally forced him to be silent, he was no longer of use to his tormentors, and they sought amusement elsewhere.  He looked about him, now, but could not recognise the locality.  He was within the city of London—­that was all he knew.  He moved on, aimlessly, and in a little while the houses thinned, and the passers-by were infrequent.  He bathed his bleeding feet in the brook which flowed then where Farringdon Street now is; rested a few moments, then passed on, and presently came upon a great space with only a few scattered houses in it,