“Nay, but what hath this little wench to say?” asked the King, looking down on the child from under his plumed cap with a face set in golden hair, the fairest and sweetest, as it seemed to her, that she had ever seen, as he smiled upon her. “Methinks she is too small to be thy love. Speak out, little one. I love little maids, I have one of mine own. Hast thou a brother among these misguided lads?” “Not so, an please your Grace,” said Dennet, who fortunately was not in the least shy, and was still too young for a maiden’s shamefastness. “He is to be my betrothed. I would say, one of them is, but the other—he saved my father’s life once.” The latter words were lost in the laughter of the King and Cardinal at the unblushing avowal of the small, prim-faced maiden. “Oh ho! So ’tis a case of true love, whereto a King’s face must needs show grace. Who art thou, fair suppliant, and who may this swain of thine be?” “I am Dennet Headley, so please your Grace; my father is Giles Headley the armourer, Alderman of Cheap Ward,” said Dennet, doing her part bravely, though puzzled by the King’s tone of banter; “and see here, your Grace!” [Illustration: “And see here, your Grace!”] “Ha! the hawk’s whistle that Archduke Philip gave me! What of that? I gave it—ay, I gave it to a youth that came to mine aid, and reclaimed a falcon for me! Is’t he, child?” “Oh, sir, ’tis he who came in second at the butts, next to Barlow, ’tis Stephen Birkenholt! And he did nought! They bore no ill-will to strangers! No, they were falling on the wicked fellows who had robbed and slain good old Master Michael, who taught our folk to make the only real true Damascus blades welded in England. But the lawyers of the Inns of Court fell on them all alike, and have driven them off to Newgate, and poor little Jasper Hope too. And Alderman Mundy bears ill-will to Giles. And the cruel Duke of Norfolk and his men swear they’ll have vengeance on the Cheap, and there’ll be hanging and quartering this very morn. Oh! your Grace, your Grace, save our lads! for Stephen saved my father.” “Thy tongue wags fast, little one,” said the King, good-naturedly, “with thy Stephen and thy Giles. Is this same Stephen, the knight of the whistle and the bow, thy betrothed, and Giles thy brother?” “Nay, your Grace,” said Dennet, hanging her head, “Giles Headley is my betrothed—that is, when his time is served, he will be—father sets great store by him, for he is the only one of our name to keep up the armoury, and he has a mother, Sir, a mother at Salisbury. But oh, Sir, Sir! Stephen is so good and brave a lad! He made in to save father from the robbers, and he draws the best bow in Cheapside, and he can grave steel as well as Tibble himself, and this is the whistle your Grace wots of.” Henry listened with an amused smile that grew broader as Dennet’s voice all unconsciously became infinitely more animated and earnest, when she began to plead Stephen’s cause.