
Poor ruined little head, it shall not lack friend or shelter whilst I
bide with the living.  He shall never leave my side; he shall be my
pet, my little comrade.  And he shall be cured!--ay, made whole and
sound--then will he make himself a name--and proud shall I be to say,
‘Yes, he is mine--I took him, a homeless little ragamuffin, but I saw
what was in him, and I said his name would be heard some day--behold
him, observe him--was I right?’”

The King spoke--in a thoughtful, measured voice--

“Thou didst save me injury and shame, perchance my life, and so my
crown.