Moll--his true love, his
one love (England still resounds with her gay laugh)--adored him with
such devotion as falls to the lot of few men, be they kings or beggars.

They met first in the New Forest, where Norman Bramp informs us, in his
celebrated hunting memoirs "Up and Away," the radiant Juniper spent her
wild, unfettered childhood. She was ever a care-free, undisciplined
creature, snapping her shapely fingers at bad weather, and riding for
preference without a saddle--as hoydenish a girl as one could encounter
on a day's march. Her auburn ringlets ablow in the autumn wind, her
cheeks whipped to a flush by the breeze's caress, and her eyes sparkling
and brimful of tomboyish mischief and roguery! This, then, was the
picture that must have met the King's gaze as he rode with a few trusty
friends through the forest for his annual week of otter shooting. Upon
seeing him, Madcap Moll gave a merry laugh, and crying "Chase me,
George!" in provocative tones, she rode swiftly away on her pony. Many
of the courtiers trembled at such a daring exhibition of _lese majeste_,
but the King, provoked only by her winning smile, tossed his gun to Lord
Twirp and set off in hot pursuit. Eventually he caught his roguish
quarry by the banks of a sunlit pool. She had flung herself off her
mount and flung herself on the trunk of a tree, which she bestrode as
though it were a better and more fiery steed. The King cast an
appraising glance at her shapely legs, and then tethered his horse to an
old oak.

"Are you a creature of the woods?" he said.

Madcap Moll tossed her curls. "Ask me!" she cried derisively.

"I am asking you," replied the King.

"Odds fudge--you have spindleshanks!" cried Madcap Moll irrelevantly.
The King was charmed. He leant towards her.

"One kiss, mistress!" he implored. At that she slapped his face and made
his nose bleed. He was captivated.

"I'faith, art a daring girl," he cried delightedly. "Knowest who I am?"

"I care not!" replied the girl.

"George the First!" said the King, rising. Madcap Moll blanched.

"Sire," she murmured, "I did not know--a poor, unwitting country
lass--have mercy!"

The King touched her lightly on the nape.

"Get up," he said gently; "you are as loyal and spirited a girl as one
could meet in all Hampshire, I'll warrant. Hast a liking for Court?"

"Oh, sire!" answered the girl.

Thus did the King meet her who was to mean everything in his life, and
more....

It was twilig