The lights began to twinkle, it came on to rain, the wind rose, and a raw and

Gusty night set in. The houseless prince, the homeless heir to the throne of

England, still moved on, drifting deeper into the maze of squalid alleys where

The swarming hives of poverty and misery were massed together.

Suddenly a great drunken ruffian collared him and said:

'Out to this time of night again, and hast not brought a farthing home, I

warrant me! If it be so, an’ I do not break all the bones in thy lean body, then

am I not John Canty, but some other.'

The prince twisted himself loose, unconsciously brushed his profaned

shoulder, and eagerly said:

'Oh, art his father, truly? Sweet heaven grant it be so — then wilt thou fetch

him away and restore me!'

' His father? I know not what thou mean'st; I but know I am thy father, as

thou shalt soon have cause to —'

'Oh, jest not, palter not, delay not! — I am worn, I am wounded, I can bear no

More. Take me to the king my father, and he will make thee rich beyond thy

wildest dreams. Believe me, man, believe me! I speak no lie, but only the

truth! — put forth thy hand and save me! I am indeed the Prince of Wales!'

The man stared down, stupefied, upon the lad, then shook his head and

muttered:

'Gone stark mad as any Tom o' Bedlam!' — then collared him once more, and

said with a coarse laugh and an oath, 'But mad or no mad, I and thy Gammer

Canty will soon find where the soft places in thy bones lie, or I'm no true

man!'