toys--no, he had ceased to care for toys now; he only liked them because
he had done so as a child. And there he sat very calm and patient, like
a king in his castle, waiting for the end.

"Still, I wish I had done something first--something worth doing, that
somebody might remember me by," thought he. "Suppose I had grown a man,
and had had work to do, and people to care for, and was so useful and
busy that they liked me, and perhaps even forgot I was lame? Then it
would have been nice to live, I think."

A tear came into the little fellow's eyes, and he listened intently
through the dead silence for some hopeful sound.

Was there one?--was it his little lark, whom he had almost forgotten?
No, nothing half so sweet. But it really was something--something which
came nearer and nearer, so that there was no mistaking it. It was the
sound of a trumpet, one of the great silver trumpets so admired in
Nomansland. Not pleasant music, but very bold, grand, and inspiring.

As he listened to it the boy seemed to recall many things which had
slipped his memory for years, and to nerve himself for whatever might be
going to happen.

What had happened was this.

The poor condemned woman had not been such a wicked woman after all.
Perhaps her courage was not wholly disinterested, but she had done a
very heroic thing. As soon as she heard of the death and burial of the
King and of the changes that were taking place in the country, a daring
idea came into her head--to set upon the throne of Nomansland its