Poor Tom came slowly walking past the low-bowing groups, trying to bow in

Return, and meekly gazing upon his strange surroundings with bewildered

And pathetic eyes. Great nobles walked upon each side of him, making him

Lean upon them, and so steady his steps. Behind him followed the court

Physicians and some servants.

Presently Tom found himself in a noble apartment of the palace, and heard

The door close behind him. Around him stood those who had come with him.

Before him, at a little distance, reclined a very large and very fat man, with a

Wide, pulpy face, and a stern expression. His large head was very gray; and

His whiskers, which he wore only around his face, like a frame, were gray also.

His clothing was of rich stuff, but old, and slightly frayed in places. One of his

Swollen legs had a pillow under it, and was wrapped in bandages. There was

Silence now; and there was no head there but was bent in reverence, except

this man's. This stern-countenanced invalid was the dread Henry VIII. He

said — and his face grew gentle as he began to speak:

'How now, my lord Edward, my prince? Hast been minded to cozen me, the

Good king thy father, who loveth thee, and kindly useth thee, with a sorry

jest?'

Poor Tom was listening, as well as his dazed faculties would let him, to the

beginning of this speech; but when the words 'me the good king' fell upon his