Oh! it is a pitiful thing to grow old; and still they call themselves the images of God! Poor boasters, who, with a breath of the Almighty, are overturned and bent as a blade of grass in the sand!" "Your majesty, may I come in ?" asked a gentle, happy child's voice.
The king turned hastily toward the door, so softly opened, and there stood a charming little boy, in the uniform of a flag-bearer, with the cap upon his head, and a neat little sword by his side.

"Yes, you may enter," nodded the king kindly to him.

"You know I sent for you, my little flag-bearer.".