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- Марк Твен
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- Принц и нищий
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- Стр. 146/153
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Meantime
the
sumptuous
robe
of
state
had
been
removed
from
Tom
's
shoulders
to
the
King
's
,
whose
rags
were
effectually
hidden
from
sight
under
it
.
Then
the
coronation
ceremonies
were
resumed
;
the
true
King
was
anointed
and
the
crown
set
upon
his
head
,
whilst
cannon
thundered
the
news
to
the
city
,
and
all
London
seemed
to
rock
with
applause
.
Miles
Hendon
was
picturesque
enough
before
he
got
into
the
riot
on
London
Bridge
--
he
was
more
so
when
he
got
out
of
it
.
He
had
but
little
money
when
he
got
in
,
none
at
all
when
he
got
out
.
The
pickpockets
had
stripped
him
of
his
last
farthing
.
But
no
matter
,
so
he
found
his
boy
.
Being
a
soldier
,
he
did
not
go
at
his
task
in
a
random
way
,
but
set
to
work
,
first
of
all
,
to
arrange
his
campaign
.
What
would
the
boy
naturally
do
?
Where
would
he
naturally
go
?
Well
--
argued
Miles
--
he
would
naturally
go
to
his
former
haunts
,
for
that
is
the
instinct
of
unsound
minds
,
when
homeless
and
forsaken
,
as
well
as
of
sound
ones
.
Whereabouts
were
his
former
haunts
?
His
rags
,
taken
together
with
the
low
villain
who
seemed
to
know
him
and
who
even
claimed
to
be
his
father
,
indicated
that
his
home
was
in
one
or
another
of
the
poorest
and
meanest
districts
of
London
.
Would
the
search
for
him
be
difficult
,
or
long
?
No
,
it
was
likely
to
be
easy
and
brief
.
He
would
not
hunt
for
the
boy
,
he
would
hunt
for
a
crowd
;
in
the
centre
of
a
big
crowd
or
a
little
one
,
sooner
or
later
,
he
should
find
his
poor
little
friend
,
sure
;
and
the
mangy
mob
would
be
entertaining
itself
with
pestering
and
aggravating
the
boy
,
who
would
be
proclaiming
himself
King
,
as
usual
.
Then
Miles
Hendon
would
cripple
some
of
those
people
,
and
carry
off
his
little
ward
,
and
comfort
and
cheer
him
with
loving
words
,
and
the
two
would
never
be
separated
any
more
.
So
Miles
started
on
his
quest
.
Hour
after
hour
he
tramped
through
back
alleys
and
squalid
streets
,
seeking
groups
and
crowds
,
and
finding
no
end
of
them
,
but
never
any
sign
of
the
boy
.
This
greatly
surprised
him
,
but
did
not
discourage
him
.
To
his
notion
,
there
was
nothing
the
matter
with
his
plan
of
campaign
;
the
only
miscalculation
about
it
was
that
the
campaign
was
becoming
a
lengthy
one
,
whereas
he
had
expected
it
to
be
short
.
When
daylight
arrived
,
at
last
,
he
had
made
many
a
mile
,
and
canvassed
many
a
crowd
,
but
the
only
result
was
that
he
was
tolerably
tired
,
rather
hungry
and
very
sleepy
.
He
wanted
some
breakfast
,
but
there
was
no
way
to
get
it
.
To
beg
for
it
did
not
occur
to
him
;
as
to
pawning
his
sword
,
he
would
as
soon
have
thought
of
parting
with
his
honour
;
he
could
spare
some
of
his
clothes
--
yes
,
but
one
could
as
easily
find
a
customer
for
a
disease
as
for
such
clothes
.
At
noon
he
was
still
tramping
--
among
the
rabble
which
followed
after
the
royal
procession
,
now
;
for
he
argued
that
this
regal
display
would
attract
his
little
lunatic
powerfully
.
He
followed
the
pageant
through
all
its
devious
windings
about
London
,
and
all
the
way
to
Westminster
and
the
Abbey
.
He
drifted
here
and
there
amongst
the
multitudes
that
were
massed
in
the
vicinity
for
a
weary
long
time
,
baffled
and
perplexed
,
and
finally
wandered
off
,
thinking
,
and
trying
to
contrive
some
way
to
better
his
plan
of
campaign
.
By-and-by
,
when
he
came
to
himself
out
of
his
musings
,
he
discovered
that
the
town
was
far
behind
him
and
that
the
day
was
growing
old
.
He
was
near
the
river
,
and
in
the
country
;
it
was
a
region
of
fine
rural
seats
--
not
the
sort
of
district
to
welcome
clothes
like
his
.
It
was
not
at
all
cold
;
so
he
stretched
himself
on
the
ground
in
the
lee
of
a
hedge
to
rest
and
think
.
Drowsiness
presently
began
to
settle
upon
his
senses
;
the
faint
and
far-off
boom
of
cannon
was
wafted
to
his
ear
,
and
he
said
to
himself
,
"
The
new
King
is
crowned
,
"
and
straightway
fell
asleep
.
He
had
not
slept
or
rested
,
before
,
for
more
than
thirty
hours
.
He
did
not
wake
again
until
near
the
middle
of
the
next
morning
.
