thyself with dreary studies, but wilt burn thy books and turn thy mind to things less irksome.

Then am I ruined, and mine orphan sisters with me!”

“Ruined? Prithee how?”

“My back is my bread, O my gracious liege! if it go idle, I starve. An’ thou cease from study mine office is gone thou’lt need no whipping-boy. Do not turn me away!”

Tom was touched with this pathetic distress. He said, with a right royal burst of generosity —

“Discomfort thyself no further, lad. Thine office shall be permanent in thee and thy line for ever.” Then he struck the boy a light blow on the shoulder with the flat of his sword, exclaiming, “Rise, Humphrey Marlow, Hereditary Grand Whipping-Boy to the Royal House of England! Banish sorrow —