"Your father can take you out." "Father is working with Master Wren. Do you know Master Wren?" "Yes." "He goeth up and down in a basket outside the house. Once I went too, and he held me so tight that it hurt. He is too old to play with." He came a little farther into the room, eying Mary wistfully. She was stately as well as tall, and the high lace commode she wore, and the stiff arrangement of her heavy curls, further added to her dignity. The child looked at her in some awe. "Are you cross with me?" he asked gravely. "No," answered the Queen—"no—but your father will be looking for you—best go and find him." "I have lost my way," he said, subdued by her coldness. "I was asleep in there." He pointed to the little sunny annexe to the turret from which he had come. "I am glad I met you, ma’am." "Why?" asked Mary. The child smiled, in an effort to win her. "I get frightened when I am alone," he said. "Don’t you, ma’am?" "Sometimes," answered the Queen; she bit her lip and fixed her narrowed brown eyes on the boy; he was fair, and rather delicate, and wore a shabby suit of red tabinet. He slowly and reluctantly moved towards the narrow dark stairs. "I wish this house was finished," he said plaintively. "It is so large. The King will live here," he added. "I saw the King talking once to Mr. Wren." Mary gave him no encouragement to stay, but he still lingered by the rotting door, that swung back against the wall, and looked at her with wide, puzzled eyes. "I am going now," he said at last; his hands went to his cravat, which was sadly knotted. "Would you tie this for me first? Father don’t like me to look untidy." "Come here," said Mary. He came at once and stood before her. "I don’t think I can do it," said the Queen unsteadily. She took hold of the scrap of cambric awkwardly, while he obediently held his head up; but her cold fingers bungled, and the bow was clumsy. "I can’t do it," she murmured. "You are so tall, ma’am!" She looked into his upturned face. "Too tall to be so stupid," she answered, and untied the bow. "Have you a mother?" she asked suddenly, holding his shoulder gently. "No, ma’am." "Ah, poor soul!" She spoke so sadly that he was distressed. "What is the matter, ma’am?" "I was thinking of what we both have missed," said Mary gently. His bright eyes were bewildered. The Queen drew him to the old chest, seated herself there, and again tied the cravat. "What is your name?" she asked, as she smoothed it. "James, ma’am—it was the King his name when I was born," he added proudly. Mary drew a quick breath. "But you serve King William." "I know," he answered dutifully. "He is a soldier, father saith. I would like to be a soldier, ma’am." Mary smiled; though she had done with his cravat she still kept her hands lightly on his shoulder. "Not a wood-carver?" He shook his head. "Father saith, ’Better be a soldier these days—there is no living else,’" he quoted wisely.