flung them all downstairs, telling the cook that the day he really became Duke
he would have his head off if he ever dared to send him anything again but the
common fare.

Hearing of it, the old Chief Constable picked up little Master Ninth Duke
between finger and thumb, and laughed, holding him in the air. "With you
alive," said he, "we shall not have to wake Duke Jarl after all!" The little
Duke asked when he would let him have a sword; and the Constable clapped his
cheeks and ran back cheerfully at a call from the palisades.

But others carried heavy looks, thinking, "Long before his fair promise can
come to anything our larders will be empty and our walls gone!"

It was no great time after this that the Duke's Constable was the only man who
saw reason in holding out. That became known all through the castle, and the
cook, honest fellow, brought up little Jarl's dinner one day with tears in his
eyes. He set down his load of dainties. "It is no use!" said he, "you may as
well eat to-day, since to-morrow we give up the castle."

"Who dares to say 'we'?" cried little Duke Jarl, springing to his feet.

"All but the Constable," said the cook; "even now they are in the
council-hall, trying to make him see reason. Whether or no, they will not let
him hold on."

Little Jarl found the doors of the great hall barred to the thunderings of
his small fist: for, in truth, these men could not bear to look upon one who
had in his veins the blood of old Duke Jarl, when they were about to give up
his stronghold to the enemy.