war,
Harry the Fifth, to whom in face you are
So like, as Fate would have you so in worth;

Prince Charles, royal Duke of York, Knight of the Garter and of the
Bath, fair in face and form, an active, manly, daring boy of eleven--the
princely brothers made so fair a sight that the King, jealous and
suspicious of Prince Henry's popularity though he was, looked now upon
them both with loving eyes. But how those loving eyes would have grown
dim with tears could this fickle, selfish, yet indulgent father have
foreseen the sad and bitter fates of both his handsome boys.

But, fortunately, such foreknowledge is not for fathers or mothers,
whatever their rank or station, and King James's only thought was one
of pride in the two brave lads now whispering together in secret
confidence. And into this he speedily broke.

"Come, come, Baby Charles," he cried, "stand no more parleying, but out
and over with the boon ye crave as guerdon for your lucky plum. Ud's
fish, lad, out with it; we'd get it for ye though it did rain jeddert
staves here in Whitehall."

"So please your Grace," said the little Prince, bowing low with true
courtier-like grace and suavity, "I will, with your permission, crave my
boon as a Christmas favor at wassail time in to-morrow's revels."

And then he passed from the chamber arm-in-arm with his elder brother,
while the King, chuckling greatly over the lad's show of courtliness and
ceremony, went into a learned discussion with my lord of Montacute and
Master Sandy as to the origin of the snapdragon, which he, with his
customary assumption of deep learning, declared was "but a modern
paraphrase, my lord, of the fable which telleth how Dan Hercules did
kill the flaming dragon of Hesperia and did then, with the apple of that
famous orchard, make a fiery dish of burning apple brandy which he did
name 'snapdragon.'"

For King James VI of Scotland and I of England was, you see, something
too much of what men call a pendant.

Christmas morning rose bright and glorious. A light hoarfrost whitened
the ground and the keen December air nipped the noses as it hurried
the song-notes of the score of little waifs who, gathered beneath the
windows of the big palace, sung for the happy awaking of the young
Prince Charles their Christmas carol and their Christmas noel:

A child this day is born,
A child of great renown;
Most worthy of a sceptre,
A sceptre and a crown.

Noel, noel,