"Wicked, envious little devils!" said she. "Never thou heed them, my
lamb! They would be glad enough, any of them, to be the master's angel,
or Dwarf Hans' darling, for that matter, if they could. It is nothing
but mean envy and spite, my little prince, my little wonder; never thou
heed them!"

And then the enemy crept unperceived into the child's heart.

Was he indeed a little prince and a wonder, on his platform of gifts
and goodness? And were all those naughty boys far below him, in another
sphere, hating him as the little devils in the mystery-plays seemed to
hate and torment the saints?

Had the "raven" been sent to him, after all, as to the prophet of old,
not only because he was hungry and pitied by God, but because he was
good and a favorite of God?

It seemed clear he was something quite out of the common. He seemed the
favorite of every one, except those few envious, wicked boys.

The great ladies of the city entreated for him to come and sing at
their feasts; and all their guests stopped in the midst of their eager
talk to listen to him, and they gave him sweetmeats and praised him to
the skies, and they offered him wine from their silver flagons, and
when he refused it, as his mother bade him, they praised him more than
ever, and once the host himself, the burgomaster, emptied the silver
flagon of the wine he had refused, and told him to take it home to his
mother and tell her she had a child whose dutifulness was worth more
than all the silver in the city.