O would our son, the wanderer, were here, Then we'd die happy!"  "Would he were!" said she. "It was my preaching forced him to be free," [Pg 76]The showman said.  "Ah, no," his wife replied, "The great world's glory and the young blood's pride, Those forced him from us, never you, my dear."  "I would be different if we had him here Again," the showman said; "but we must start. But all this splendour takes away my heart, I am not used to playing to the King."  "Look," said his wife, "the stranger, in the Ring."  There in the Ring, indeed, the stranger stood, King Cole, the shining, with his flute of wood, Waiting until the chattering Court was stilled. Then from his wooden flute his piping thrilled, Then all was tense, and then the leaping fluting Clamoured as flowering clamours for the fruiting. [Pg 77] And round the ring came Dodo, the brown mare, Pied like a tiger-moth; her bright shoes tare The scattered petals, while the clown came after Like life, a beauty chased by tragic laughter. The showman entered in and cracked his whip. Then followed fun and skill and horsemanship, Marvellous all, for all were at their best. Never had playing gone with such a zest To those good jesters; never had the tent So swiftly answered to their merriment With cheers, the artist's help, the actor's life. Then, at the end, the showman and his wife Stood at the entrance listening to the cheers. They were both happy to the brink of tears. King Cole came close and whispered in their ears: "There is a soldier here who says he knew You, long ago, and asks to speak to you. A sergeant in the guard, a handsome blade." [Pg 78] "Mother!" the sergeant said. "What, Jack!" she said, "Our son come back! look, father, here's our son!"  "Bad pennies do come home to everyone," The sergeant said. "And if you'll have me home, And both forgive me, I'll be glad to come."  "Why, son," the showman said, "the fault was ours."  Now a bright herald trod across the flowers To bid the artists to the Queen and King, Who thanked them for the joyful evening, And shook each artist's hand with words of praise. "Our happiest hour," they said, "for many days. You must perform at Court at Christmas tide."  They left their box: men flung the curtains wide, The horses kneeled like one as they withdrew. [Pg 79]

"Would he were!" said she.

[Pg 76]

"Ah, no," his wife replied,

[Pg 77]

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