The Queen Who Flew. Ford Ford Madox

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СКАЧАТЬ ragged and very dirty, and he had neither shoes nor stockings, By his side was a basket in which, over white paper frills, nodded the heads of young ferns.

      "Why, who are you?" the Queen said. And then her eyes fell on his bare feet. They reminded her of what the Regent had said that morning. "Oh, you must be the poor," she said, "and you want my stockings."

      "I don't know about your stockings, lady," the man said; "but if you've got any old clothes to spare, I could give you some nice pots of flowers for them."

      The Queen said, "Why, what good would that do you?"

      And the man answered, "I should sell them and get some money. I'm fearfully hungry."

      "Why don't you have something to eat, then?" the Queen said.

      And the man replied, "Because I haven't got any money to buy it with."

      "Why don't you take it, then?"

      "Because it would be stealing, and stealing's wicked; besides, I should be sent to prison for it."

      "I don't understand quite what you mean," the Queen said. "But come with me somewhere where we can get some food, and you shall have as much as you like."

      The fern-seller arose with alacrity.

      "There's a shop near here where they sell some delicious honey-cakes."

      "I can't make it out," the Queen said to herself. "If he's hungry he can't be contented; and yet the Regent said every one was contented in the land, because of his being Regent. He must have been mistaken, or else this man must be one of the traitors."

      And aloud she said, "Is there a bill of attainder out against you?"

      The beggar shook his head. "I guess not," he said. "Tradesmen won't let the likes of me run up bills."

      It was a remark the Queen could not understand at all. They crossed the market-place that lay before the palace door.

      "There's no market to-day because the people are all afraid the revolution isn't over yet."

      "Oh, but it is," the Queen said; "I made the Lord Blackjowl Regent to-day."

      The beggar looked at her with a strange expression; but the Queen continued —

      "I don't see what harm the revolution could do to the market."

      "Why, don't you see," the beggar said, "when they get to fighting the arrows fly about all over the place, and the horses would knock the stalls over. Besides, the soldiers steal everything, or set fire to it. Look, there's a house still smouldering."

      And, indeed, one of the market houses was a heap of charred ruins.

      "But what was the good of it?" the Queen asked.

      And the beggar answered, "Well, you see, it belonged to one of the opposite party, and he wouldn't surrender and have his head chopped off."

      "I should think not," the Queen said.

      The streets were quite empty, and all the shutters were closed. Here and there an arrow was sticking into the walls or the doors.

      "Do people never walk about the streets?" the Queen asked.

      "It wouldn't be safe when there's a revolution on," the beggar answered.

      Just at that moment they arrived before the door of a house that, like all the rest, was closely shut up. Over the door was written —

"JAMES GRUBB,Honey-cake Maker."

      Here the beggar stopped and began to beat violently at the door with his staff.

      The sound of the blows echoed along the streets, – and then from within came dismal shouts of "Murder!" "Police!" "Fire!"

      But the beggar called back, "Nonsense, James Grubb; it's only a lady come for some honey-cakes."

      Then, after a long while, there was a clatter of chains behind the door, and it was opened just an inch, so that the Queen could see an old man's face peeping cautiously out at her. The sight seemed to reassure him, for he opened the door and bobbed nervously. At other times he would have bowed suavely.

      "Will your ladyship be pleased to enter?" he said. "I want to shut the door; it is so dangerous to have it open with all these revolutions about."

      The Queen complied with his request, and found herself in a little dark shop, only lighted dimly through the round air-holes in the shutters.

      "Give this man some honey-cakes," she said; and the honey-cake maker seemed only too delighted.

      "How many shall I give him, madam?" he said.

      "As many as he wants, of course," the Queen answered sharply.

      The beggar proceeded to help himself, and made a clean sweep of all the cakes that were on the counter. There was a big hole in his coat, and into that he thrust them, so that the lining at last was quite full.

      The honey-cake maker was extremely pleased at the sight, for he had not expected to sell any cakes that day.

      When the cakes had all disappeared there was an awkward pause.

      "Now I'll go on again," the Queen said.

      "But you haven't paid," the honey-cake maker said in some alarm.

      "Pay!" said the Queen. "What do you mean?"

      "Paid for the cakes, I mean," the honey-cake maker said.

      "I don't understand you," she answered. "I am the Queen; I never pay for what I eat."

      "She is the Queen," the beggar said; "and if you don't take care she'll have your head off."

      The honey-cake maker jumped back so suddenly that he sat down in a tub of honey and stuck there doubled up with his knees to his chin.

      "O Lord! O Lord!" he said. "What shall I do? what shall I do? – all my cakes gone, and never to be paid!"

      "You won't want to be paid if your head's cut off," the beggar said.

      But the Queen answered, "Nonsense. No one's going to cut your head off; and I dare say, if you ask them at the palace, they'll pay you, whatever it means. Just pull him out of the tub," she continued to the beggar, for the unfortunate honey-baker, not being able to move, remained gasping in the tub.

      So the beggar pulled him out, and, for all his fright, his business spirit did not desert him.

      "Will your Majesty deign to sign an order for payment?" he said.

      And the Queen answered, "Good gracious, no, I won't; the ink always gets into my finger-nails."

      The honey-cake maker bowed lower still. "At least, your Majesty, deign to give me your signet-ring as a token."

      "Oh, I'll give you that," the Queen said; and she drew it from her finger.

      The honey-cake maker suddenly smote his forehead with his hand, as though an idea had struck him.

      "You might carry that ladder out for me," he said to the beggar, indicating a ladder that СКАЧАТЬ