John Canty said to this one--
"Tarry! There's fine mummeries here. Mar them not till thou'st enjoyed
them: then let thy hand be heavy as thou wilt. Stand forth, lad. Now
say thy foolery again, an thou'st not forgot it. Name thy name. Who art
thou?"
The insulted blood mounted to the little prince's cheek once more, and he
lifted a steady and indignant gaze to the man's face and said--
"'Tis but ill-breeding in such as thou to command me to speak. I tell
thee now, as I told thee before, I am Edward, Prince of Wales, and none
other."
The stunning surprise of this reply nailed the hag's feet to the floor
where she stood, and almost took her breath. She stared at the Prince in
stupid amazement, which so amused her ruffianly son, that he burst into a
roar of laughter. But the effect upon Tom Canty's mother and sisters was
different. Their dread of bodily injury gave way at once to distress of
a different sort. They ran forward with woe and dismay in their faces,
exclaiming--
"Oh, poor Tom, poor lad!"
The mother fell on her knees before the Prince, put her hands upon his
shoulders, and gazed yearningly into his face through her rising tears.
Then she said--
"Oh, my poor boy! Thy foolish reading hath wrought its woeful work at
last, and ta'en thy wit away. Ah! why did'st thou cleave to it when I so
warned thee 'gainst it? Thou'st broke thy mother's heart."
The Prince looked into her face, and said gently--
"Thy son is well, and hath not lost his wits, good dame.
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