the walls of Exeter down with, our fists. Please you to enter Bodmin, whose very stones will cry for King Richard louder than King Hal's cannon;—to-morrow, God willing, we are for the wars."
The royal party passed on—the dark ferocity or sturdy obstinacy painted on the faces of the ill-armed rout, struck Richard as he passed—he became meditative, while Edmund, shamed and angry, his cheeks burning, his eyes on the ground, listened in indignant silence to Master Skelton, who fastened on him with such talk, that whether a soldier spoke of killing doublets, or a tailor prattled of fashioning a field of slaughter, was a riddle ill to be devised. At length they passed the gates of Bodmin; and here was a louder cry of welcome from the shrill voices of women, who held up their thin hands and half-starved children, crying for vengeance on Tudor, blessing the sweet faces of Richard and his lovely wife. York's eyes flashed again with their wonted fires; his creative spirit had found materials here to work some project, all poor and rude as they might seem.
They entered the town-hall; when, by some sudden revulsion, in the tide of the crowd, every Cornishman fell back, closed the doors, and left the wanderers alone. Something was forgotten surely; for Heron had paced pompously up to Richard, when suddenly he turned on his heel, crying, "A word, my masters!" and all were gone. The Lady Katherine had marked their backing and hurrying with becoming gravity; but, when the door was fairly shut, she could restrain no longer a heart-felt laugh. Richard joined in her mirth, while Plantagenet strode through the hall angrily; muttering, "an army, a rout of shirtless beggars; is this England's reception for her king?"
"It were fine mumming," said Richard, "under a hedge with the green sward for a stage."
"By our Lady, this passes patience!" reiterated Edmund; "where are the gentlemen of England? Where the sons of those who fell for York? Are we to oppose these half-naked knaves to the chivalry of Henry?"
"It would seem that such is expected," replied the prince; "and, verily, cousin, we might do worse. I pray you, treat the honest rogues well; better may come of it; keep we our secret, and have we not an array?"
"My lord!" cried Plantagenet, in wonder.
"Patience, dear friend," said York; "I have not been apprentice to adversity so many long years, without becoming an adept in my calling. I say, I have an army; bold, though poor—ragged truly, but exceeding faithful. Methinks it were more
