“If I were King,” said the lad fiercely, “I 'd burn them all in hot fire, as they have burned my father's house.”
“Come,” said Stephen, and led him hastily by the hand. But to depart from the gardens they must needs pass nigh the blazing palace, and presently they came upon rioters breaking up chairs and tables and carved beds, and among these Jack Straw.
“What boy is this?” Jack cried, barring the way.
“A friend of mine,” said Stephen.
“Then art thou traitor. The people has no silken friends.”
“How often have I heard thee say,” retorted Stephen, “that one day thou and all men shall be clad in silk?”
There was a crowd gathering, men stood about with broken legs of chairs, good bludgeons, in their hands.
“Natheless, to-day our friends go in russet and rags,” said Jack Straw.
“So be it,” Stephen assented, and stripped the child of his silk coat so that he stood in his shirt. “Art a-cold, friend?—Wilt have my courtepy?”
“Nay,” the boy answered, looking about on all those rough faces of men, but with a strange gleam in his eye,—“nay,—the fire warms me.”