to see the Queen go by.
Many of the people had hung carpets or tapestries, some of taffetas and
cloth-of-gold, out of their balconies and windows, and the very signs
themselves,--fantastic ironwork, with here and there a grotesque beast
rampant, or a bright painting, or an escutcheon;--with the gay,
good-tempered crowds beneath and the strip of frosty blue sky, crossed
by streamers from side to side, shining above the towering eaves and
gables of the houses, all combined to make a scene so astonishing that
it seemed scarcely real to these country children.

It was yet some time before she was expected; but there came a sudden
stir from the upper end of Cheapside, and then a burst of cheering and
laughter and hoots. Anthony leaned out to see what was coming, but could
make out nothing beyond the head of a horse, and a man driving it from
the seat of a cart, coming slowly down the centre of the road. The
laughter and noise grew louder as the crowds swayed this way and that to
make room. Presently it was seen that behind the cart a little space was
kept, and Anthony made out the grey head of a man at the tail of the
cart, and the face of another a little way behind; then at last, as the
cart jolted past, the two children saw a man stripped to the waist, his
hands tied before him to the cart, his back one red wound; while a
hangman walked behind whirling his thonged whip about his head and
bringing it down now and again on the old man's back. At each lash the
prisoner shrank away, and turned his piteous face, drawn with pain, from
side to side, while the crowd yelled and laughed.

"What's it for, what's it for?" inquired Anthony, eager and interested.

A boy leaning from the next window answered him.

"He said Jesus Christ was not in heaven."

At that moment a humorist near the cart began to cry out:

"Way for the King's Grace! Way for the King's Grace!" and the crowd took
the idea instantly: a few men walking with the cart formed lines like
gentlemen ushers, uncovering their heads and all crying out the same
words; and one eager player tried to walk backwards until he was tripped
up. And so the dismal pageant of this red-robed king of anguish went by;
and the hoots and shouts of his heralds died away. Anthony turned to
Isabel, exultant and interested.

"Why, Isabel," he said, "you look all white. What is it? You know he's a
blasphemer."

"I know, I know," said Isabel.

Then suddenly, far away, came the sound of