He had been one of those who had lifted the brokenhearted Wolsey from his mule in the cloister of Leicester Abbey, he had carried him to his bed, watched over him, and supported him, as the Abbot of Leicester gave him the last Sacraments. He had heard and treasured up those mournful words which are Wolsey's chief legacy to the world, "Had I but served my God, as I have served my king, He would not have forsaken me in my old age." For himself, he had the dying man's blessing, and assurance that nothing had so much availed to cheer in these sad hours as his faithful love. Now, Perronel might do what she would with him--he cared not. And what she did was to set forth with him for Hampshire, on a pair of stout mules with a strong serving-man behind them. CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR. THE SOLDIER. "Of a worthy London prentice My purpose is to speak, And tell his brave adventures Done for his country's sake. Seek all the world about And you shall hardly find A man in valour to exceed A prentice' gallant mind." _The Homes of a London Prentice_. Six more years had passed over the Dragon court, when, one fine summer evening, as the old walls rang with the merriment of the young boys at play, there entered through the gateway a tall, well-equipped, soldierly figure, which caught the eyes of the little armourer world in a moment. "Oh, that's a real Milan helmet!" exclaimed the one lad. "And oh, what a belt and buff coat!" cried another. The subject of their admiration advanced muttering, "As if I'd not been away a week," adding, "I pray you, pretty lads, doth Master Alderman Headley still dwell here?" "Yea, sir, he is our grandfather," said the elder boy, holding a lesser one by the shoulder as he spoke. "Verily! And what may be your names?" "I am Giles Birkenholt, and this is my little brother, Dick." "Even as I thought. Wilt thou run in to your grandsire, and tell him?" The bigger boy interrupted, "Grandfather is going to bed. He is old and weary, and cannot see strangers so late. 'Tis our father who heareth all the orders." "And," added the little one, with wide-open grave eyes, "Mother bade us run out and play and not trouble father, because uncle Ambrose is so downcast because they have cut off the head of good Sir Thomas More." "Yet," said the visitor, "methinks your father would hear of an old comrade. Or stay, where be Tibble Steelman and Kit Smallbones?" "Tibble is in the hall, well-nigh as sad as uncle Ambrose," began Dick; but Giles, better able to draw conclusions, exclaimed, "Tibble! Kit! You know them, sir! Oh! are you the Giles Headley that ran away to be a soldier ere I was born? Kit! Kit! see here--" as the giant, broader and perhaps a little more bent, but with little loss of strength, came forward out of his hut, and taking up the matter just where it had been left fourteen years before, demanded as they shook hands, "Ah, Master Giles, how couldst thou play me such a scurvy trick?"