He loved to read aloud to them.  It was his habit to read his manuscript to Mrs. Clemens, and, now that the children were older, he was likely to include them in his critical audience.

It would seem to have been the winter after their return from Europe that this custom was inaugurated, for ‘The Prince and the Pauper’ manuscript was the first one so read, and it was just then he was resuming work on this tale.  Each afternoon or evening, when he had finished his chapter, he assembled his little audience and read them the result.  The children were old enough to delight in that half real, half fairy tale of the wandering prince and the royal pauper:  and the charm and simplicity of the story are measurably due to those two small listeners, to whom it was adapted in that early day of its creation.

Clemens found the Prince a blessed relief from ‘A Tramp Abroad’, which had become a veritable nightmare.  He had thought it finished when he left the farm, but discovered that he must add several hundred pages to complete its bulk.  It seemed to him that he had been given a life-sentence.  He wrote six hundred pages and tore up all but two hundred and eighty-eight.  He was about to destroy these and begin again, when Mrs. Clemens’s health became poor and he was advised to take her to Elmira, though it was then midwinter.  To Howells he wrote: 

    I said, “if there is one death that is painfuler than another, may I
    get it if I don’t do that thing.”

So I took the 288 pages to Bliss and told him that was the very last line I should ever write on this book (a book which required 600 pages of Ms., and I have written nearly four thousand, first and last).

    I am as soary (and flighty) as a rocket to-day, with the unutterable
    joy of getting that Old Man of the Sea off my back, where he has
    been roosting more than a year and a half.

They remained a month at Elmira, and on their return Clemens renewed work on ‘The Prince and the Pauper’.  He reported to Howells that if he never sold a copy his jubilant delight in writing it would suffer no diminution.  A week later his enthusiasm had still further increased: 

    I take so much pleasure in my story that I am loath to hurry, not
    wanting to get it done.  Did I ever tell you the plot of it?  It
    begins at 9 A.M., January 27, 1547.

He follows with a detailed synopsis of his plot, which in this instance he had worked out with unusual completeness—­a fact which largely accounts for the unity of the tale.  Then he adds: