“What imp is there?” cried the King, spying up into the tree, while his attendant drew his sword, “How now?” as Peregrine half climbed, half tumbled down, bringing hat and wig with him, and, whether by design or accident, fell at his feet. “Will nothing content you but royal game?” he continued laughing, as Sir Christopher Wren helped him to resume his wig. “Why, what a shrimp it is! a mere goblin sprite! What’s thy name, master wag?”
“Peregrine Oakshott, so please you,” the boy answered, raising himself with a face scared indeed, but retaining its queer impishness. “Sir, I never guessed—”
“Young rogue! have you our licence to waylay our loyal subjects?” demanded the King, with an affected fierceness. “Know you not ’tis rank treason to discrown our sacred Majesty, far more to dishevel or destroy our locks? Why! I might behead you on the spot.” To his great amazement the boy, with an eager face and clasped hands, exclaimed, “O sir! Oh, please your Majesty, do so.”
“Do so!” exclaimed the King astounded. “Didst hear what I said?”
“Yes, sir! You said it was a beheading matter, and I’m willing, sir.”
“Of all the petitions that ever were made to me, this is the strangest!” exclaimed Charles. “An urchin like this weary of life! What next? So,” with a wink to his companions, “Peregrine Oakshott, we condemn thee for high treason against our most sacred Majesty’s beaver and periwig, and sentence thee to die by having thine head severed from thy body. Kneel down, open thy collar, bare thy neck. Ay, so, lay thy neck across that bough. Killigrew, do thy duty.”
To the general surprise, the boy complied with all these directions, never flinching nor showing sign of fear, except that his lips were set and his cheek whitened. As he knelt, with closed eyes, the flat cold blade descended on his neck, the tension relaxed, and he sank!
“Hold!” cried the King. “It is gone too far! He has surely not carried out the jest by dying on our hands.”
“No, no, sir,” said Wren, after a moment’s alarm, “he has only swooned. Has any one here a flask of wine to revive him?”
Several gentlemen had come up, and as Peregrine stirred, some wine was held to his lips, and he presently asked in a faint voice, “Is this fairyland?”