tes repose under
silken canopies on beds of down.

The babe was named William, and he was a great favorite with his father.
He was brought up at Falaise. Two years after his birth, Robert's father
died, and his oldest brother, Richard III., succeeded to the ducal
throne. In two years more, which years were spent in contention between
the brothers, Richard also died, and then Robert himself came into
possession of the castle in his own name, reigning there over all the
cities and domains of Normandy.

William was, of course, now about four years old. He was a bright and
beautiful boy, and he grew more and more engaging every year. His
father, instead of neglecting and disowning him, as it might have been
supposed he would do, took a great deal of pride and pleasure in
witnessing the gradual development of his powers and his increasing
attractiveness, and he openly acknowledged him as his son.

In fact, William was a universal favorite about the castle. When he was
five and six years old he was very fond of playing the soldier. He would
marshal the other boys of the castle, his playmates, into a little
troop, and train them around the castle inclosures, just as ardent and
aspiring boys do with their comrades now. He possessed a certain
vivacity and spirit too, which gave him, even then, a great ascendency
over his playfellows. He invented their plays; he led them in their
mischief; he settled their disputes. In a word, he possessed a
temperament and character which enabled him very easily and strongly to
hold the position which his rank as son of the lord of the castle so
naturally assigned him.

A few years thus passed away, when, at length, Robert conceived the
design of making a pilgrimage to the Holy Land. This was a plan, not of
humble-minded piety, but of ambition for fame. To make a pilgrimage to
the Holy Land was a romantic achievement that covered whoever
accomplished it with a sort of sombre glory, which, in the case of a
prince or potentate, mingled with, and hallowed and exalted, his
military renown. Robert determined on making the pilgrimage. It was a
distant and dangerous journey. In fact, the difficulties and dangers of
the way were perhaps what chiefly imparted to the enterprise its
romance, and gave it its charms. It was customary for kings and rulers,
before setting out, to arrange all the affairs of their kingdoms, to
provide a regency to govern during their absence, and to determine upon
their suc