dy as ever, and never once failed. Stephen was
bitterly disappointed, his eyes filled with tears, and he flung himself
down on the turf, feeling as if the shouts of "A Barlow! a Barlow!"
which were led by the jovial voice of King Harry himself, were all
exulting over him.

Barlow was led up to the king, who hailed him "King of Shoreditch," a
title borne by the champion archer ever after, so long as bowmanship in
earnest lasted. A tankard which the king filled with silver pieces was
his prize, but Henry did not forget Number 2. "Where's the other
fellow?" he said. "He was but a stripling, and to my mind, his feat was
a greater marvel than that of a stalwart fellow like Barlow."

Half a dozen of the spectators, among them the cardinal's hurried in
search of Stephen, who was roused from his fit of weariness and
disappointment by a shake of the shoulder as his uncle jingled his bells
in his ears, and exclaimed, "How now, here I own a cousin!" Stephen sat
up and stared with angry, astonished eyes, but only met a laugh. "Ay,
ay, 'tis but striplings and fools that have tears to spend for such as
this! Up, boy! D'ye hear? The other Hal is asking for thee."

And Stephen, hastily brushing away his tears, and holding his flat cap
in his hand, was marshalled across the mead, hot, shy, and indignant, as
the jester mopped and mowed, and cut all sorts of antics before him,
turning round to observe in an encouraging voice, "Pluck up a heart,
man! One would think Hal was going to cut off thine head!" And then,
on arriving where the king sat on his horse, "Here he is, Hal, such as
he is come humbly to crave thy gracious pardon for hitting the mark no
better! He'll mend his ways, good my lord, if your grace will pardon
him this time."

"Ay, marry, and that will I," said the king. "The springald bids fair
to be King of Shoreditch by the time the other fellow abdicates. How
old art thou, my lad?"

"Seventeen, an it please your grace," said Stephen, in the gruff voice
of his age.

"And thy name?"

"Stephen Birkenholt, my liege," and he wondered whether he would be
recognised; but Henry only said--

"Methinks I've seen those sloe-black eyes before. Or is it only that
the lad is thy very marrow, quipsome one?"

"The which," returned the jester, gravely, while Stephen tingled all
over with dismay, "may account for the tears the lad was wasting at not
having the thews of the fellow double his age! But I envy him not!