the ease with which he was doing strange and glittering miracles, a happy
thought shot into his mind: why not make his mother Duchess of Offal
Court, and give her an estate? But a sorrowful thought swept it
instantly away: he was only a king in name, these grave veterans and
great nobles were his masters; to them his mother was only the creature
of a diseased mind; they would simply listen to his project with
unbelieving ears, then send for the doctor.

The dull work went tediously on. Petitions were read, and proclamations,
patents, and all manner of wordy, repetitious, and wearisome papers
relating to the public business; and at last Tom sighed pathetically and
murmured to himself, "In what have I offended, that the good God should
take me away from the fields and the free air and the sunshine, to shut
me up here and make me a king and afflict me so?" Then his poor muddled
head nodded a while and presently drooped to his shoulder; and the
business of the empire came to a standstill for want of that august
factor, the ratifying power. Silence ensued around the slumbering child,
and the sages of the realm ceased from their deliberations.

During the forenoon, Tom had an enjoyable hour, by permission of his
keepers, Hertford and St. John, with the Lady Elizabeth and the little
Lady Jane Grey; though the spirits of the princesses were rather subdued
by the mighty stroke that had fallen upon the royal house; and at the end
of the visit his 'elder sister'--afterwards the 'Bloody Mary' of history
--chilled him with a solemn interview which had but one merit in his eyes,
its brevity. He had a few moments to himself, and then a slim lad of
about twelve years of age was admitted to his presence, whose clothing,
except his snowy ruff and the laces about his wrists, was of black,
--doublet, hose, and all. He bore no badge of mourning but a knot of
purple ribbon on his shoulder. He advanced hesitatingly, with head bowed