hear the story of his grand-uncle. But I should like to know what my
hair and Louis's knife can have to do with King Charles."

"Wait a bit, Kate, and you shall hear, that is, if you have patience,"
said her brother. "Well then, you must know, that after some great
battle, the name of which I forget, _[FN: Battle of Worcester.]_ in
which the King and his handful of brave soldiers were defeated by the
forces of the Parliament, (the Roundheads, as they were called,) the
poor young king was hunted like a partridge upon the mountains; a large
price was set on his head, to be given to any traitor who should slay
him, or bring him prisoner to Oliver Cromwell. He was obliged to
dress himself in all sorts of queer clothes, and hide in all manner of
strange, out of the way places, and keep company with rude and humble
men, the better to hide his real rank from the cruel enemies that sought
his life. Once he hid along with a gallant gentleman, _[FN: Colonel
Careless.]_ one of his own brave officers, in the branches of a great
oak. Once he was hid in a mill; and another time he was in the house of
one Pendril, a woodman. The soldiers of the Parliament, who were always
prowling about, and popping in unawares wherever they suspected the
poor king to be hidden, were, at one time, in the very room where he was
standing beside the fire."

"Oh!" exclaimed Catharine, "that was frightful. And did they take him
prisoner?"

"No; for the wise woodman and his brothers, fearing lest the soldiers
should discover that he was a cavalier and a gentleman, by the
long curls that the king's men all wore in those days, and called
_lovelocks_, begged of his majesty to let his hair be cropped close to
his head."

"That was very hard, to lose his nice curls."

"I dare say the voting king thought so too, but it was better to lose
his hair than his head. So, I suppose, the men told him, for he suffered
them to cut it all close to his head, laying down his head on a rough
deal table, or a chopping-block, while his faithful friends with a large
knife trimmed off the curls."

"I wonder if the young king thought at that minute of his poor father,
who, you know, was forced by wicked men to lay down his head upon a
block to have it cut from his shoulders, because Cromwell, and others as
hard-hearted as himself, willed that he should die." "Poor king!"
said Catharine, sighing, "I see that it is better to be poor children,
wandering on these plains under Go