This baby brother was a delight to both the princesses. Mary went often to see him, and looked after him as if he had been her own child, and to Elizabeth he was the most precious thing in all the world. "I pray you, take me to see my brother," she often pleaded. One day the older sister said to her, "Elizabeth, is there aught that I can do to please you greatly?" "I would gladly go to see my brother," was the child's answer. "That cannot well be," said Mary. "Is there nothing better that you can wish?" "No, sister." "But there is surely one thing better. When it is two of the clock, stand you close by the west window of the hall, and what is to come will come." Clocks were not very common in those days, but there was one in the hall at Hunsdon, and the excited little girl watched the hands move slowly around until they marked the hour of two. What was to come? A little after two a single rider appeared. "Make way for his Grace, Edward, Prince of Wales!" he cried. Then came the trumpeters and, following them, the nobles. After the nobles came the royal baby for whom all this ceremonial had been arranged. He lay in the arms of his nurse, "Mother Jack," and was borne in a litter. The upright poles were heavily gilded, and the canopy was of the richest white silk edged with a golden fringe. Clusters of white plumes were fixed at each corner. On the shoulders of eight men rested the shafts of the chair. All around it gathered noble lords and ladies, mounted on horses whose trappings were marked with the monogram of many a family of rank and power. Every man wore a sword to defend the heir of England's king, if need should arise, and stalwart guards marched on either side. "It's my own little brother," cried Elizabeth. "And he comes to abide with us for a while," said Mary. "Is not that better, my little sister, than going to him to pay a visit of a day?" "Will Lady Margaret grant me leave to show him my birds and my rabbits? He shall play on my virginals, if he will; and, truly, I'll not mind the sharp prick of the needle, if I may but sew a dress for him. I would fain learn to make letters with the needle, sister Mary, that I might sew one all myself on everything that he will wear. Oh, it will be an 'E,' even as it is on whatever is mine."