In the Wars of the Roses: A Story for the YoungEverett-Green, Evelyn
History
In the Wars of the Roses: A Story for the Young
Everett-Green, Evelyn
Great Britain -- History -- Wars of the Roses, 1455-1485 -- Juvenile fiction
Paul's breath comes and goes as the cheering in the crowd grows
vociferous. He grasps his bunch of roses firmly in his hands, his
cheeks glowing till they almost rival the damask bloom of the
flowers, his eyes fixed in all their eager brightness upon the
advancing band, which consists of the king and queen and prince and
their own immediate attendants. It is a moment never forgotten by
the boy in after life--the moment when first his glance fell upon
the royal child around whose history romance has woven so many a
tale; and it was with a start of peculiar surprises and a thrill of
emotion he could not have analyzed, that the boy beheld the little
prince of his dreams. For in those beautiful princely features, in
the alert graceful figure and the floating curls of gold, Paul
seemed to see his own lineaments reproduced, and gave one
bewildered glance toward his mother to see if perchance the same
thought struck her.
And indeed it did; for the chance resemblance between the young
heir of the House of Lancaster and the son of an obscure
Staffordshire knight was so remarkable that none who saw the two
children could fail to be struck by it. Paul for a moment was
almost awed, feeling as if he had no right thus to have aped the
outward aspect of the little prince; but the next moment all else
was forgotten in the excitement of the moment and in the vigorous
cheering which greeted the close approach of royalty.
The party moved slowly forward, returning the loyal salutations of
the crowd right graciously. The little prince was charming in his
friendly gestures, and Paul observed that to one and another of the
knights and gentlemen drawn up to do them honour he held out some
little token, which was received with every demonstration of
respect and gratification.
His intense excitement caused the little Paul to push out somewhat
further than the line observed by the soldiers, and no one recalled
him to his place; and thus it was that when, as the cortege moved
forward, the Prince of Wales dropped the plumed hat with the white
ostrich feather, which he was raising in response to the
salutations showered upon him, it was Paul who had leaped to the
ground and caught up the costly headgear from beneath the very feet
of the king's horse, and, with glowing face and ardent gaze of
admiration and homage, had bent the knee to the princely child, and
restored the cap, whilst his bunch of roses was offered at the same
moment with an air of modest eagerness that touched all hearts.
The little prince took both the cap and the flowers, thanking the
lad with friendly smiles; but when he saw how closely that bright
face resembled his own, and how those floating curls of shining
gold uncovered to the hot sunshine were but as the counterpart of
his, he too glanced at his mother, whose smiling face was bent with
a proud pleasure upon the pretty picture formed by the two
children, and he said in his clear, joyous tones:
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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