by Mark Twain
CHAPTER XIII. The disappearance of the Prince.
A heavy drowsiness presently fell upon the two comrades. ?The Kingsaid--
"Remove these rags."--meaning his clothing.
Hendon disapparelled the boy without dissent or remark, tucked him up inbed, then glanced about the room, saying to himself, ruefully, "He hathtaken my bed again, as before--marry, what shall _I_ do?" ?The littleKing observed his perplexity, and dissipated it with a word. ?He said,sleepily--
"Thou wilt sleep athwart the door, and guard it." ?In a moment more hewas out of his troubles, in a deep slumber.
"Dear heart, he should have been born a king!" muttered Hendon,admiringly; "he playeth the part to a marvel."
Then he stretched himself across the door, on the floor, sayingcontentedly--
"I have lodged worse for seven years; 'twould be but ill gratitude toHim above to find fault with this."
He dropped asleep as the dawn appeared. ?Toward noon he rose, uncoveredhis unconscious ward--a section at a time--and took his measure with astring. ?The King awoke, just as he had completed his work, complainedof the cold, and asked what he was doing.
"'Tis done, now, my liege," said Hendon; "I have a bit of businessoutside, but will presently return; sleep thou again--thou needest it.There--let me cover thy head also--thou'lt be warm the sooner."
The King was back in dreamland before this speech was ended. Milesslipped softly out, and slipped as softly in again, in the course ofthirty or forty minutes, with a complete second-hand suit of boy'sclothing, of cheap material, and showing signs of wear; but tidy, andsuited to the season of the year. ?He seated himself, and began tooverhaul his purchase, mumbling to himself--
"A longer purse would have got a better sort, but when one has not thelong purse one must be content with what a short one may do--
"'There was a woman in our town, In our town did dwell--'
"He stirred, methinks--I must sing in a less thunderous key; 'tis notgood to mar his sleep, with this journey before him, and he so weariedout, poor chap . . . This garment--'tis well enough--a stitch here andanother one there will set it aright. ?This other is better, albeit astitch or two will not come amiss in it, likewise . . . _These_ be verygood and sound, and will keep his small feet warm and dry--an odd newthing to him, belike, since he has doubtless been used to foot it bare,winters and summers the same . . . Would thread were bread, seeing onegetteth a year's sufficiency for a farthing, and such a brave big needlewithout cost, for mere love. ?Now shall I have the demon's own time tothread it!"
And so he had. ?He did as men have always done, and probably always willdo, to the end of time--held the needle still, and tried to thrust thethread through the eye, which is the opposite of a woman's way. ?Timeand time again the thread missed the mark, going sometimes on one sideof the needle, sometimes on the other, sometimes doubling up against theshaft; but he was patient, having been through these experiences before,when he was soldiering. ?He succeeded at last, and took up the garmentthat had lain waiting, meantime, across his lap, and began his work.
"The inn is paid--the breakfast that is to come, included--and there iswherewithal left to buy a couple of donkeys and meet our little costsfor the two or three days betwixt this and the plenty that awaits us atHendon Hall--
"'She loved her hus--'
"Body o' me! ?I have driven the needle under my nail! . . . It matterslittle--'tis not a novelty--yet 'tis not a convenience, neither. . . .We shall be merry there, little one, never doubt it! Thy troubles willvanish there, and likewise thy sad distemper--
"'She loved her husband dearilee, But another man--'
"These be noble large stitches!"--holding the garment up and viewingit admiringly--"they have a grandeur and a majesty that do causethese small stingy ones of the tailor-man to look mightily paltry andplebeian--
"'She loved her husband dearilee, But another man he loved she,--'
"Marry, 'tis done--a goodly piece of work, too, and wrought withexpedition. ?Now will I wake him, apparel him, pour for him, feed him,and then will we hie us to the mart by the Tabard Inn in Southwarkand--be pleased to rise, my liege!--he answereth not--what ho, myliege!--of a truth must I profane his sacred person with a touch, sithhis slumber is deaf to speech. ?What!"
He threw back the covers--the boy was gone!
He stared about him in speechless astonishment for a moment; noticed forthe first time that his ward's ragged raiment was also missing; then hebegan to rage and storm and shout for the innkeeper. ?At that moment aservant entered with the breakfast.
"Explain, thou limb of Satan, or thy time is come!" roared the man ofwar, and made so savage a spring toward the waiter that this lattercould not find his tongue, for the instant, for fright and surprise.?"Where is the boy?"
In disjointed and trembling syllables the man gave the informationdesired.
"You were hardly gone from the place, your worship, when a youth camerunning and said it was your worship's will that the boy come to youstraight, at the bridge-end on the Southwark side. ?I brought himhither; and when he woke the lad and gave his message, the lad didgrumble some little for being disturbed 'so early,' as he called it, butstraightway trussed on his rags and went with the youth, only sayingit had been better manners that your worship came yourself, not sent astranger--and so--"
"And so thou'rt a fool!--a fool and easily cozened--hang all thy breed!Yet mayhap no hurt is done. ?Possibly no harm is meant the boy. ?I willgo fetch him. ?Make the table ready. ?Stay! the coverings of the bedwere disposed as if one lay beneath them--happened that by accident?"
"I know not, good your worship. ?I saw the youth meddle with them--hethat came for the boy."
"Thousand deaths! ?'Twas done to deceive me--'tis plain 'twas done togain time. ?Hark ye! ?Was that youth alone?"
"All alone, your worship."
"Art sure?"
"Sure, your worship."
"Collect thy scattered wits--bethink thee--take time, man."
After a moment's thought, the servant said--
"When he came, none came with him; but now I remember me that as the twostepped into the throng of the Bridge, a ruffian-looking man plunged outfrom some near place; and just as he was joining them--"
"What _then_?--out with it!" thundered the impatient Hendon,interrupting.
"Just then the crowd lapped them up and closed them in, and I saw nomore, being called by my master, who was in a rage because a joint thatthe scrivener had ordered was forgot, though I take all the saints towitness that to blame _me_ for that miscarriage were like holding theunborn babe to judgment for sins com--"
"Out of my sight, idiot! ?Thy prating drives me mad! ?Hold! Whither artflying? ?Canst not bide still an instant? ?Went they toward Southwark?"
"Even so, your worship--for, as I said before, as to that detestablejoint, the babe unborn is no whit more blameless than--"
"Art here _yet_! ?And prating still! ?Vanish, lest I throttle thee!" Theservitor vanished. ?Hendon followed after him, passed him, and plungeddown the stairs two steps at a stride, muttering, "'Tis that scurvyvillain that claimed he was his son. ?I have lost thee, my poor littlemad master--it is a bitter thought--and I had come to love thee so! ?No!by book and bell, _not_ lost! ?Not lost, for I will ransack the landtill I find thee again. ?Poor child, yonder is his breakfast--and mine,but I have no hunger now; so, let the rats have it--speed, speed! thatis the word!" ?As he wormed his swift way through the noisy multitudesupon the Bridge he several times said to himself--clinging to thethought as if it were a particularly pleasing one--"He grumbled, but he_went_--he went, yes, because he thought Miles Hendon asked it, sweetlad--he would ne'er have done it for another, I know it well."
