'
In his dream he reached his sordid home all out of breath, but
with eyes dancing with grateful enthusiasm; cast four of his pennies
into his mother's lap and cried out:
'They are for thee!- all of them, every one!- for thee and Nan and
Bet- and honestly come by, not begged nor stolen!'
The happy and astonished mother strained him to her breast and
exclaimed:
'It waxeth late- may it please your majesty to rise?'
Ah, that was not the answer he was expecting. The dream had
snapped asunder- he was awake.
He opened his eyes- the richly clad First Lord of the Bedchamber
was kneeling by his couch. The gladness of the lying dream faded away-
the poor boy recognized that he was still a captive and a king. The
room was filled with courtiers clothed in purple mantles- the mourning
color- and with noble servants of the monarch. Tom sat up in bed and
gazed out from the heavy silken curtains upon this fine company.
The weighty business of dressing began, and one courtier after
another knelt and paid his court and offered to the little king his
condolences upon his heavy loss, while the dressing proceeded. In
the beginning, a shirt was taken up by the Chief Equerry in Waiting,
who passed it to the First Lord of the Buckhounds, who passed it to
the Second Gentleman of the Bedchamber, who passed it to the Head
Ranger of Windsor Forest, who passed it to the Third Groom of the
Stole, who passed it to the Chancellor Royal of the Duchy of
Lancaster, who passed it to the Master of the Wardrobe, who passed
it to Norroy King-at-Arms, who passed it to the Constable of the
Tower, who passed it to the Chief Steward of the Household, who passed
it to the Hereditary Grand Diaperer, who passed it to the Lord High
Admiral of England, who passed it to the Archbishop of Canterbury, who
passed it to the First Lord of the Bedchamber, who took what was
left of it and put it on Tom.
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