And this year
he felt especially gracious. For now, first since the terror of the Guy
Fawkes plot which had come to naught full seven years before, did the
timid king feel secure on his throne; the translation of the Bible, on
which so many learned men had been for years engaged, had just been
issued from the press of Master Robert Baker; and, lastly, much profit
was coming into the royal treasury from the new lands in the Indies and
across the sea.
So it was to be a Merry Christmas in the palace at Whitehall. Great
were the preparations for its celebration, and the Lord Henry, the
handsome, wise and popular young Prince of Wales, whom men hoped some
day to hail as King Henry of England, was to take part in a jolly
Christmas mask, in which, too, even the little Prince Charles was to
perform for the edification of the court when the mask should be shown
in the new and gorgeous banqueting hall of the palace.
And to-night it was Christmas Eve. The Little Prince Charles and the
Princess Elizabeth could scarcely wait for the morrow, so impatient
were they to see all the grand devisings that were in store for them.
So good Master Sandy, under-tutor to the Prince, proposed to wise
Archie Armstrong, the King's jester, that they play at snapdragon for
the children in the royal nursery.
The Prince and Princess clamoured for the promised game at once, and
soon the flicker from the flaming bow lighted up the darkened nursery
as, around the witchlike caldron, they watched their opportunity to
snatch the lucky raisin.
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