The boys stopped their play and flocked about the prince, who said with native dignity—
"Good lads, say to your master that Edward Prince of Wales desireth speech with him."
A great shout went up, at this, and one rude fellow said—
"Marry, art thou his grace's messenger, beggar?"
The prince's face flushed with anger, and his ready hand flew to his hip, but there was nothing there. There was a storm of laughter, and one boy said—
"Didst mark that? He fancied he had a sword—belike he is the prince himself."
This sally brought more laughter. Poor Edward drew himself up proudly and said—
"I am the prince; and it ill beseemeth you that feed upon the king my father's bounty to use me so."
This was vastly enjoyed, as the laughter testified. The youth who had first spoken, shouted to his comrades—
"Ho, swine, slaves, pensioners of his grace's princely father, where be your manners? Down on your marrow bones, all of ye, and do reverence to his kingly port and royal rags!"
With boisterous mirth they dropped upon their knees in a body and did mock homage to their prey. The prince spurned the nearest boy with his foot, and said fiercely—
"Take thou that, till the morrow come and I build thee a gibbet!"
Ah, but this was not a joke—this was going beyond fun. The laughter ceased on the instant, and fury took its place. A dozen shouted—
"Hale him forth! To the horse-pond, to the horse-pond! Where be the dogs? Ho, there, Lion! ho, Fangs!"
Then followed such a thing as England had never seen before—
