"Ah, be merciful, thou! In sooth I am no lord, but only poor Tom Canty

of Offal Court in the city. Prithee let me see the prince, and he will

of his grace restore to me my rags, and let me hence unhurt. Oh, be thou

merciful, and save me!"

By this time the boy was on his knees, and supplicating with his eyes and

uplifted hands as well as with his tongue. The young girl seemed

horror-stricken. She cried out--

O my lord, on thy knees?--and to ME!"

Then she fled away in fright; and Tom, smitten with despair, sank down,

murmuring--

"There is no help, there is no hope. Now will they come and take me."

Whilst he lay there benumbed with terror, dreadful tidings were speeding

through the palace. The whisper--for it was whispered always--flew from

menial to menial, from lord to lady, down all the long corridors, from

story to story, from saloon to saloon, "The prince hath gone mad, the

prince hath gone mad!" Soon every saloon, every marble hall, had its

groups of glittering lords and ladies, and other groups of dazzling

lesser folk, talking earnestly together in whispers, and every face had

in it dismay. Presently a splendid official came marching by these

The Prince and The Pauper