He had enjoyed life, he had made
the most of his play-days, but always there had hung over his young
head the shadow of the cross that would have to be supported to the
end of his reign, through thick and thin, through joy and sorrow,
through peace and strife.
He saw the shadow when he was little more than a baby; it was like a
figure striding beside him always; it never left him. He could not be
like other boys, for he was a prince, and it was a serious business
being a prince! A thousand times, as a lad, he had wished that he
could have a few "weeks off" from being what he was and be just a
common, ordinary, harum scarum boy, like the "kids" of Petrove, the
head stableman. He would even have put up with the thrashings they
got from their father, just for the sake of enjoying the mischief
that purchased the punishment. But alas! no one would ever dream of
giving him the lovely "tannings" that other boys got when they were
naughty. Such joys were not for him; he was mildly reproved and that
was all. But his valiant spirit found release in many a glorious
though secret encounter with boys both large and small, and not
infrequently he sustained severe pummelings at the hands of plebeians
who never were quite sure that they wouldn't be beheaded for obliging
him in the matter of a "scrap," but who fought like little wild-cats
while they were about it.
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