" Wilham Brown ! " they said, " he ! he ! It is a bit like him."
"Poor old William," said Hubert. " We'll tell him to-morrow. We'll tell him there was a waxwork jus' like him."
" Poor ole William," repeated his companions, " swotting Latin verbs instead of coming to the fair. It was a joke, wasn't it, Hubert ? "
They giggled together. There came a gleam to the eye of the little prince in the Tower. Then one of Hubert's followers leant forward and said in jeering challenge to the little prince in the Tower :
" Hello, William ! Hello, poor ole William Brown. Swotting Latin verbs instead of coming to the fair. Poor ole Wilham Brown."
It was an exquisite jest to the Hubert Laneites to bait this waxwork, which resembled William Brown, to its face as they dared not bait William Brown himself.
" Hello, silly ole William Brown. Catch me if you can, William Brown. Yah! William Brown! Who's got to stay in swotting Latin verbs instead of going to the fair ? Yah ! Yah ! Yah ! Little Lord Fauntleroy."
This last taunt was more than William's proud spirit could brook. In a second he had leapt over the rope and was pursuing his amazed foes to the entrance of the tent and across the fair ground. The Hubert Laneites, so startled as hardly able to believe the evidence of their senses, were yet not too paralysed by fear to turn to flee before this avenging fury. Even William's lace collar and feathered hat did not make him at that moment less terrible in their eyes.
The spectators stood motionless and the straw dropped from the mouth of the bored-looking youth. One of the waxworks had suddenly come to life, leapt over the rope, and fled headlong out of the tent. The youngest spectator suddenly pointed to