again!"

TOMMY TOBY'S STORY OF THE FROLICSOME DUKE.

Tom Toby's turn came next, and at the announcement of his name there
was a sudden lighting up of faces. Tom's face, which was usually
rather comical, assumed a more mirth-loving expression than ever.

"You said," he began, "that we were to visit Ghent and Bruges. I
believe these towns were in old Flanders, and that Flanders was in
Burgundy. One of the most clever rulers of whom I ever read was Philip
the Good, Duke of Burgundy, though he had some faults when he used to
be young like me.

"The good Duke married Eleonora, sister to the King of Portugal. The
wedding was celebrated in great pomp at Bruges, and the merry-makings
lasted a week.

"Christopher Sly was a tinker, and a tinker was a man who used to
'roam the countries around,' crying, 'Old brass to mend!' and who
repaired the good people's broken pots and kettles.

"Christopher heard of the great wedding in his travels, and came to
Bruges to enjoy the merry-making with the rest.

"He had only one pair of breeches, and they were made of leather. He
deemed them suitable for all occasions. He had never arrived at the
luxury of a coat, but in its place he wore a large leather apron,
which covered his great shoulders, like the armor of a knight.

"Christopher had one bad habit. He loved ale overmuch, and he used to
drink so deeply on festive occasions as to affect the steadiness both
of his mind and body.

"Christopher enjoyed the gala-days. He mingled in the gay processions
that followed the ducal pair to the tournament; he gazed with loyal
pride on the horses with their trappings of crimson and gold; he
followed the falconers to the hunting-parks, and listened to the music
that led the dance at night in the torch-lit palace.

"The ducal wedding took place in the deep of winter; and one night,
soon after the joyful event, and while Bruges was yet given up to
festivities, there fell a great snow-storm, blocking the streets and
silencing the town.

"Christopher's money was gone, and the falling weather chilled not
only his blood, but his spirits. He wandered about in the storm, going
from ale-house to ale-house, and receiving hospitality, until the town
of Bruges seemed to revolve around him as its inhabitants around the
Duke. Still he plodded away through the streets, longing to see the
warm fires glow and the torches gleam in the ducal palace. When he had
nearly reached the palace, the town began to