ng, the Bridge furnished 'object
lessons' in English history for its children--namely, the livid and
decaying heads of renowned men impaled upon iron spikes atop of its
gateways. But we digress.

Hendon's lodgings were in the little inn on the Bridge. As he neared the
door with his small friend, a rough voice said--

"So, thou'rt come at last! Thou'lt not escape again, I warrant thee; and
if pounding thy bones to a pudding can teach thee somewhat, thou'lt not
keep us waiting another time, mayhap."--and John Canty put out his hand to
seize the boy.

Miles Hendon stepped in the way and said--

"Not too fast, friend. Thou art needlessly rough, methinks. What is the
lad to thee?"

"If it be any business of thine to make and meddle in others' affairs, he
is my son."

"'Tis a lie!" cried the little King, hotly.

"Boldly said, and I believe thee, whether thy small headpiece be sound or
cracked, my boy. But whether this scurvy ruffian be thy father or no,
'tis all one, he shall not have thee to beat thee and abuse, according to
his threat, so thou prefer to bide with me."

"I do, I do--I know him not, I loathe him, and will die before I will go
with him."

"Then 'tis settled, and there is nought more to say."

"We will see, as to that!" exclaimed John Canty, striding past Hendon to
get at the boy; "by force shall he--"

"If thou do but touch him, thou animated offal, I will spit thee like a
goose!" said Hendon, barring the way and laying his hand upon his sword
hilt. Canty drew back. "Now mark ye," continued Hendon, "I took this
lad under my protection when a mob of such as thou would have mishandled
him, mayhap killed him; dost imagine I will desert him now to a worser
fate?--for whether thou art his father or no--and sooth to say, I think
it is a lie--a decent swift death were better for such a lad than life in
such brute hands as thine. So go thy ways, and set quick about it, for I
like not much bandying of words, being not over-patient in my nature."

John Canty moved off, muttering threats and curses, and was swallowed
from sight in the crowd. Hendon ascended three flights of stairs to his
room, with his charge, after ordering a meal to be sent thither. It was
a poor apartment, with a shabby bed and some odds and ends of old
furniture in it, and was vaguely lighted by a couple of sickly candles.
The little King dragged himself to the bed and lay down upon it, almost
exhausted with hunger and fatig