p was begun that was to have
unforeseen consequences. They had broken bread together.

Between the very old and the very young come sometimes these strong
affections. Perhaps it is that age harkens back to the days of its
youth, and by being very old, becomes young again. Or is it that
children are born old, with the withered, small faces of all the past,
and must, year by year, until their maturity, shed this mantle of age?

Gradually, over the meal, and the pigeons, and what not, old Adelbert
unburdened his heart. He told of his years at the Opera, where he had
kept his glasses clean and listened to the music until he knew by heart
even the most difficult passages. He told of the Crown Prince, who
always wished opera-glasses, not because he needed them, but because he
liked to turn them wrong end before, and thus make the audience appear
at a great distance. And then he told of the loss of his position.

The American lad listened politely, but his mind was on the Crown
Prince. "Does he wear a crown?" he demanded. "I saw him once in a
carriage, but I think he had a hat."

"At the coronation he will wear a crown."

"Do people do exactly what he tells them?"

Old Adelbert was not certain. He hedged, rather. "Probably, whenever it
is good for him."

"Huh! What's the use of being a prince?" observed the boy, who had heard
of privileges being given that way before. "When will he be a king?"

"When the old King dies. He is very old now. I was in a hospital once,
after a battle. And he came in. He put his hand on my shoulder,
like this" he illustrated it on the child's small one--and said--
Considering that old Adelbert no longer loved his King, it is strange to
record that his voice broke.

"Will he die soon?" Bobby put in. He found kings as much of a novelty as
to Prince Ferdinand William Otto they were the usual thing. Bobby's idea
of kings, however, was of the "off with his head" order.

"Who knows? But when he does, the city will learn at once. The great
bell of the Cathedral, which never rings save at such times, will toll.
They say it is a sound never to be forgotten. I, of course, have never
heard it. When it tolls, all in the city will fall on their knees and
pray. It is the custom." Bobby, reared to strict Presbyterianism and
accustomed to kneeling but once a day, and that at night beside his
bed, in the strict privacy of his own apartment, looked rather startled.
"What will they pray for?" he said.

An