The boy

Miles Hendon stepped in the way, and said:

'Not too fast, friend. Thou art needlessly rough, methinks. What is the lad to

thee?'

'If it be any business of thine to make and meddle in others' affairs, he is my

son.'

''Tis a lie!' cried the little king, hotly.

'Boldly said, and I believe thee, whether thy small head-piece be sound or

cracked, my boy. But whether this scurvy ruffian be thy father or no, 'tis all

One, he shall not have thee to beat thee and abuse, according to his threat, so

thou prefer to abide with me.'

'I do, I do — I know him not, I loathe him, and will die before I will go with

him.'

'Then 'tis settled, and there is naught more to say.'

'We will see, as to that!' exclaimed John Canty, striding past Hendon to get at

the boy; 'by force shall he —'

'If thou do but touch him, thou animated offal, I will spit thee like a goose!'

Said Hendon, barring the way and laying his hand upon his sword-hilt. Canty

drew back. 'Now mark ye,' continued Hendon, 'I took this lad under my

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Protection when a mob such as thou would have mishandled him, mayhap

killed him; dost imagine I will desert him now to a worser fate? — for

Whether thou art his father or no — and sooth to say, I think it is a lie — a

Decent swift death were better for such a lad than life in such brute hands as