By and by the sound of trumpets was heard approaching nearer and nearer;
a heavy, old-fashioned coach, surrounded by guards on horseback, drove
up to the house. Sir Oliver, with his hat in his hand, stood at the
gate to receive the king. His Majesty was dressed in a suit of green
not very new; he had a feather in his hat and a triple ruff round his
neck, and over his shoulder was slung a hunting-horn instead of a sword.
Altogether he had not the most dignified aspect in the world; but the
spectators gazed at him as if there was something superhuman and divine
in his person. They even shaded their eyes with their hands, as if they
were dazzled by the glory of his countenance.

"How are ye, man?" cried King James, speaking in a Scotch accent; for
Scotland was his native country. "By my crown, Sir Oliver, but I am
glad to see ye!"

The good knight thanked the king; at the same time kneeling down while
his Majesty alighted. When King James stood on the ground, he directed
Sir Oliver's attention to a little boy who had come with him in the
coach. He was six or seven years old, and wore a hat and feather, and
was more richly dressed than the king himself. Though by no means an
ill-looking child, he seemed shy, or even sulky; and his cheeks were
rather pale, as if he had been kept moping within doors, instead of
being sent out to play in the sun and wind.

"I have brought my son Charlie to see ye," said the king. "I hope, Sir
Oliver, ye have a son of your own to be his playmate."

Sir Oliver Cromwell made a reverential bow to the little prince, whom
one of the attendants had now taken out of the coach. It was wonderful