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

Here the laughing crowd pushed him down the road, shouting—

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

The prince looked about him. He was in London—that was all he knew. He walked around, and in a little while there were less houses and people around him. He bathed his bleeding feet in the brook, rested a few moments, then continued walking, and presently came upon a great space with only a few scattered houses in it, and a church. He recognised this church. There was scaffolding everywhere, and a lot of workmen; the church was undergoing repairs. The prince felt that this was the end of his troubles. He said to himself, “It is the ancient Grey Friars’ Church, which my father, the king, turned into a home for poor and forsaken children. Gladly will they serve the son of the one that has was so generous to them.”

He was soon found himself in the midst of a crowd of boys who were running, jumping, playing with ball, and right noisily, too. They were all dressed alike.

The boys stopped their play and surrounded about the prince, who said with dignity—

“Good lads, say to your master that Edward Prince of Wales wants to speak with him.”

They all talked at once, and then one of them said—

“Are you his messenger, beggar?”

The prince’s face flushed with anger, and his hand flew to his hip, but there was nothing there. There was a storm of laughter, and one boy said—

“Did you see that? He thought he had a sword—like he is the prince himself.”

This brought more laughter. Poor Edward proudly said—

“I am the prince.”

More laughter again. The boy who had first spoken, shouted to his friends—

“Well, where are your manners? Down on your knees, everyone!”

Laughing, they dropped upon their knees and did mock homage to him. The prince kicked the nearest boy with his foot, and said—

“Take that! Unless you want to hang tomorrow!”

And now this was going beyond fun. The laughter stopped, and fury took its place. A dozen shouted—

“Grab him! To the horse-pond, to the horse-pond!”

And what happened than was a thing England had never seen before—the heir to the throne beaten by commoner hands, and torn by dogs.

As night fell, the prince found himself far down in the poor part of the city. His body was bruised, his hands were bleeding, and his rags were dirty with mud.

He walked on and on, and grew more and more bewildered, and so tired that he could hardly put one foot after the other. He kept muttering to himself, “Offal Court—that is the name; if I can find, then I am saved—his people will take me to the palace and prove that I am the true prince.”

It started raining, the wind rose. The homeless heir to the throne of England still walked on deeper and deeper into the maze of small dirty streets.

Suddenly a big drunken ruffian took him by the collar and said—

“Out so late at night again, and if you have not brought anything home, and I do not break all the bones in your body, then am I not John Canty!”

The prince twisted himself out of the big hand, and said—

“Oh, are you his father? Then you will take him home and bring me back!”

“His father? I do not know what you mean; I am your father—”

“Oh, hurry up!—I am tired, I can bear no more. Take me to the king my father, and he will make you rich as you have never dreamed. Believe me, man! I am indeed the Prince of Wales!”

The man looked down at the boy, then shook his head and muttered—

“He has gone mad!”—then said with a coarse laugh, “I and Mother will soon find where the soft places in your bones are!”

With this he dragged the struggling prince to a dark dirty house.

Tom Canty, left alone in the prince’s cabinet, made good use of his opportunity. He walked up to the great mirror, admiring his fine clothes; then walked around, imitating the prince, observing results in the glass. Tom played with a jewelled dagger; he tried each of the great chairs, and thought how proud he would be if the Offal Court boys could see him in this palace. He wondered if they would believe the marvellous tale he would tell them when he got home.

At the end of half an hour it suddenly occurred to him that the prince was gone a long time; then he began to feel lonely; stopped playing with the pretty things about him; he grew uneasy. What if someone should come, and catch him in the prince’s clothes, and the prince will not be there to explain? His fear rose higher and higher; and he decided to look for the prince, and opened the door. Six gentlemen-servants and two young pages, dressed like butterflies, sprang to their feet and bowed low before him. He quickly closed the door, and said—

“Oh, they mock at me! They will go and tell. Oh! why did I come here?”

He walked up and down the room, filled with fear. Presently the door opened, and a page said—

“Lady Jane Grey.”

A sweet young girl, richly dressed, came toward him. But she stopped suddenly, and said—

“Oh, what is wrong with you, my lord?”

Tom was hardly able to speak—

“I am no lord, but only poor Tom Canty of Offal Court. Please let me see the prince, and he will give me back my rags, and let me go home. Oh, save me!”