"I hope, Sir Oliver, ye have a son of your own to be his playmate." Sir Oliver Cromwell made a reverential bow to the little prince, whom one of the attendants had now taken out of the coach.

It was wonderful to see how all the spectators, even the aged men with their gray beards, humbled themselves before this child.

They bent their bodies till their beards almost swept the dust: They looked as if they were ready to kneel down and worship him.
The poor little prince! From his earliest infancy not a soul had dared to contradict him; everybody around him had acted as if he were a superior being; so that, of course, he had imbibed the same opinion of himself.

He naturally supposed that the whole kingdom of Great Britain and all its inhabitants had been created solely for his benefit and amusement.

This was a sad mistake; and it cost him dear enough after he had ascended his father's throne.
"What a noble little prince he is!" exclaimed Sir Oliver, lifting his hands in admiration.