The fool paid no attention to what his master said to him. “Henry Pattison!” cried Sir Thomas. “Master, I haven’t any ears.” He turned a summersault and made a hideous grimace, which he thought charming. “Since you have no ears, you can hear me as well where you are. Understand, then, little fool, that I have given you to the lord-mayor. I have written to him about you this morning, and I have no doubt but that he will send for you to-day or to-morrow.” Had a pail of boiling water been thrown on the poor child, he could not have jumped up more suddenly. On hearing these words he ran toward Sir Thomas, and, throwing himself at his feet, burst into a torrent of tears. “What have I done, master?” he cried. “How have I offended you? Why have you not told me? Forgive me, I will never do so any more; but don’t drive me away. I will never, never displease you again! No! no! don’t send me away!” “My child,” said Sir Thomas, “you are mistaken. I am not at all displeased or vexed with you; on the contrary. You will be very happy with the lord-mayor; he will take good care of you, and that is why I prefer giving you to him.” “No! no!” cried Henry Pattison, sobbing. “Don’t let me eave you, I implore you! Do anything you please with me, only don’t send me away. Why is it you no longer want me? Dame Margaret, take pity on me, and beg your father to let me stay!” But Margaret, usually very willing to do what she was requested, turned away her head and paid no attention to this petition. “Master, keep me!” he cried in despair. “Why do you not want me with you any longer?” “My child,” said Sir Thomas, “I am very much distressed at it; but I am too poor now to keep you in my house, to furnish you with scarlet coats and all the other things to which you are accustomed, You will be infinitely better off with the lord-mayor.” “I want nothing with the lord-mayor. I will have no more scarlet coats nor gold lace; and if I am too expensive to feed, I will go eat with the dog in the yard. You don’t send him away; he is very happy. It is true that he guards the house, and that I――I am good for nothing. Well, I will work; yes, I will work. I implore you, only keep me. I will work. I don’t want to leave you, my dear master. Have pity on me!” Sir Thomas was greatly disturbed. Alas! his heart was already so full, it required so much courage to conceal the state of his soul, he was in such an agony, that he felt if the dwarf said any more he would be forced to betray himself. Assuredly it was not the thought of being separated from his jester that afflicted him to such a degree, but the attachment of this deformed and miserable child, his tears, his entreaties, his dread of losing him, reminded him but too forcibly of the grief which later must seize on the hearts of his own children; for the composure which they saw him maintain at this moment alone prevented them from indulging in expressions of affection far more harrowing still.