od as
any other name. And it suits me, too."

"You must have had a hard life," Jean replied, not knowing what else to
say. "It has evidently made you very bitter against your fellow men."

"Hard is not a strong enough word, Miss. You see that copy of the
'Aeneid'? Well, I read as much of that as I do Shakespeare. I like to
follow the history of Old Aeneas. Many of his troubles were mine, and
truly has Virgil sung of them. He was an exile by fate, and so am I.
He had many wanderings, and so have I. He was treated with base
ingratitude, and so was I. Yes, Timon and Aeneas are my brothers in
tribulation. Like them I hate and curse my enemies."

"But this is a Christian age," Jean reminded. "We are taught by our
Great Master to love our enemies, to bless and curse not."

"What! love King George, that crazy fool? Love a thing that brought on
the war? Love a creature with the brains of a mouse? Nonsense. I
don't believe the Lord ever meant us to love such a being."

Jean little expected that her quiet rebuke would cause such an
outburst. She had always held the King in the highest esteem, as one
who ruled by divine authority. To hear him now reviled, was more than
she could endure.

"You have no right to talk about our good King in such a manner," she
stoutly defended. "He is a great King, and thousands have died for him
in the terrible war."

"A great King! A great King!" the man sneered. "And how great is he?
He is so great that he objected to painting St. Paul's Cathedral as
being too much like the Roman Catholic custom. He is so great that he
doesn't like Shakespeare, but he laughs to split his sides at farces
and pantomimes, where clowns swallow carrots and strings of sausages.
He is so great that he spends much of his time learning the exact
number of buttons, tags and laces, and the cut of all the cocked-hats,
pigtails, and gaiters in his army. Oh, yes, he is so great that he is
always meddling in other people's affairs. He pokes his red face into
every cottage for miles around. Imagine the King of England going
about in his old wig, shovel-hat, and Windsor uniform, hob-nobbing with
pig-boys, and old women making apple dumplings, and hurrahing with lazy
louts early in the morning! That is the great King of England! How
proud you must be of such a creature."

"I am proud of him," Jean retorted, "and you should not misrepresent
him. The people love him for his pure and simple manner of