he menacing gesture of the insurgent leader, and
hearing his threatening speech, immediately concluded he was about to
attack the person of the young king. Quick as thought, Sir William drew
his dagger, and before any one could interpose or hold him back, he
struck Wat Tyler in the throat, and his attendants following with
repeated blows, the leader of the people fell from his horse a dead man!
All this was so suddenly done, and so astonished the onlookers, that
Wat Tyler was already dead before a hand was moved or a voice raised on
either side. Then there rose an angry shout from those twenty thousand
rebels, as they saw their leader down. "We are betrayed!" they cried;
"they have killed our leader!" And with that they raised their bows and
pointed their shafts at the heart of the young king.

But they lowered them in amazement when, instead of shrinking and
cowering behind his knights, they saw the lad put spurs to his horse and
gallop, all by himself, up to the very place where they stood. "Men,"
he cried, "follow me; I am your king, and I will be your captain! Wat
Tyler was a traitor; no ill shall befall you if you make me your
leader."

The brave words disarmed that great crowd as if by magic; the men who
had just now shouted, "Long live Wat Tyler!" now shouted with a mighty
shout, "Long live our King Richard!"

The insurrection was at an end, the confidence of the people returned
once more to their rulers, and they marched that day from Smithfield,
under the leadership of their young king, as far as the country hamlet
of Islington, there quietly to disperse to their own homes and resume
once again their ordinary pursuits.

CHAPTER TWENTY THREE.

RICHARD WHITTINGTON, THE SCULLERY BOY WHO BECAME LORD MAYOR.

A poor boy, meanly clad, and carrying in his hand a small bundle,
trudged sadly along the road which led over the moor of Finsbury to
Highgate. The first streak of dawn was scarcely visible in the eastern
sky, and as he walked, the boy shivered in the chill morning air. More
than once he dashed from his eyes the rising tears, and clutched his
little wallet and quickened his pace, as if determined to hold to some
desperate resolve, despite of all drawings to the contrary. As the road
rose gradually towards Highgate, the sun broke out from behind the
clouds on his right, and lit up fields and trees and hills with a
brightness and richness which contrasted strangely with the gloom on the
boy's f