After which he would go forth in his rags and beg a few farthings, eat his poor

Crust, take his customary cuffs and abuse, and then stretch himself upon his

Handful of foul straw, and resume his empty grandeurs in his dreams.

And still his desire to look just once upon a real prince, in the flesh, grew upon

Him, day by day, and week by week, until at last it absorbed all other desires,

And became the one passion of his life.

One January day, on his usual begging tour, he tramped despondently up and

Down the region round about Mincing Lane and Little East Cheap, hour after

Hour, barefooted and cold, looking in at cook-shop windows and longing for

The dreadful pork-pies and other deadly inventions displayed there — for to

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Him these were dainties fit for the angels; that is, judging by the smell, they

Were — for it had never been his good luck to own and eat one. There was a

Cold drizzle of rain; the atmosphere was murky; it was a melancholy day. At

Night Tom reached home so wet and tired and hungry that it was not possible

For his father and grandmother to observe his forlorn condition and not be

Moved — after their fashion; wherefore they gave him a brisk cuffing at once

And sent him to bed. For a long time his pain and hunger, and the swearing

And fighting going on in the building, kept him awake; but at last his thoughts