melia by the
hand; and the people crowded round quite good-naturedly; and the Eton boys
thrust their chubby cheeks under the crowd's elbows; and the concert over,
the king never failed to take his enormous cocked-hat off, and salute his
band, and say, "Thank you, gentlemen."

[Illustration]

A Little Rebel

A quieter household, a more prosaic life than this of Kew or Windsor,
cannot be imagined. Rain or shine, the king rode every day for hours;
poked his red face into hundreds of cottages round about, and showed that
shovel hat and Windsor uniform to farmers, to pig-boys, to old women
making apple dumplings; to all sorts of people, gentle and simple, about
whom countless stories are told. Nothing can be more undignified than
these stories. When Haroun Alraschid visits a subject incog., the latter
is sure to be very much the better for the caliph's magnificence. Old
George showed no such royal splendour. He used to give a guinea sometimes:
sometimes feel in his pockets and find he had no money: often ask a man a
hundred questions: about the number of his family, about his oats and
beans, about the rent he paid for his house, and ride on. On one occasion
he played the part of King Alfred, and turned a piece of meat with a
string at a cottager's house. When the old woman came home, she found a
paper with an enclosure of money, and a note written by the royal pencil:
"Five guineas to buy a jack." It was not splendid, but it was kind and
worthy of Farmer George. One day, when the king and queen were walking
together, they met a little boy--they were always fond of children, the
good folks--and patted the little white head. "Whose little boy are you?"
asks the Windsor uniform. "I am the king's beefeater's little boy,"
replied the child. On which the king said, "Then kneel down, and kiss the
queen's hand." But the innocent offspring of the beefeater declined this
treat. "No," said he, "I won't kneel, for if I do, I shall spoil my new
breeches." The thrifty king ought to have hugged him and knighted him on
the spot. George's admirers wrote pages and pages of such stories about
him. One morning, before anybody else was up, the king walked about
Gloucester town; pushed over Molly the housemaid who was scrubbing the
doorsteps with her pail; ran upstairs and woke all the equerries in their
bedrooms; and then trotted down to the bridge, where, by this time, a
dozen of l