Here the jeering crowd closed round the poor little prince, and hustled
him far down the road, hooting him, and shouting--

"Way for his Royal Highness! Way for the Prince of Wales!"



Chapter IV. The Prince's troubles begin.

After hours of persistent pursuit and persecution, the little prince was
at last deserted by the rabble and left to himself. As long as he had
been able to rage against the mob, and threaten it royally, and royally
utter commands that were good stuff to laugh at, he was very
entertaining; but when weariness finally forced him to be silent, he was
no longer of use to his tormentors, and they sought amusement elsewhere.
He looked about him, now, but could not recognise the locality. He was
within the city of London--that was all he knew. He moved on, aimlessly,
and in a little while the houses thinned, and the passers-by were
infrequent. He bathed his bleeding feet in the brook which flowed then
where Farringdon Street now is; rested a few moments, then passed on, and
presently came upon a great space with only a few scattered houses in it,
and a prodigious church. He recognised this church. Scaffoldings were
about, everywhere, and swarms of workmen; for it was undergoing elaborate
repairs. The prince took heart at once--he felt that his troubles were
at an end, now. He said to himself, "It is the ancient Grey Friars'
Church, which the king my father hath taken from the monks and given for
a home for ever for poor and forsaken children, and new-named it Christ's
Church. Right gladly will they serve the son of him who hath done so
generously by them--and the more that that son is himself as poor and as
forlorn as any that be sheltered here this day, or ever shall be."