The Door in the Wall by Marguerite De Angeli Page A

Once a cloud of dust on the road moving toward the town kept him excited for an hour, but it proved to be only a flock of sheep being driven to market. Once a company of lancers appeared, but they turned southward.
    On the afternoon of the Eve of Christmas Robin was at his post on top of the keep, with Adam Bowyer, who was on watch. It began to snow. Robin watched while the silent whiteness covered the hills and the roofs of the town. Far, far below he could see a hawking party. He could see the pages coming from the forest, dragging the yule log and branches of holly to decorate the Hall.

    Suddenly Adam Bowyer cried, “Look! Look yonder!” He pointed east, where the road led into the highroad and to the town gate. Robin left the north side of the tower and joined Adam, looking toward where he pointed. The snow dimmed what he saw, but it was clear enough. A company of knights and men at arms rode toward the castle. At the head rode the King, for only he wore the royal colors and the royal quarterings of the banners. At his side rode one who sat his horse as only Robin’s father did. In the midst of the great company were ladies, pikemen, men at arms, and yeomen. That must be the Queen. Was it the Lady Maud there beside her in the center? It must be!
    Robin burst into a cheer.
    “It is true!” he shouted. “It is true! The Scottish wars are over, and my father is alive!” He must say nothing about his mother, for fear Adam would think him babyish. He dashed down the winding stair as fast as he dared, crossed the inner ward to the Hall, thump, slip, thump, slip, and then to the solar to find Sir Peter. Thump, slip, thump, slip, thump, slip, thump, slip!
    Sir Peter roared with laughter at Robin’s attempt to tell him about the approaching company, for he knew from the moment he had seen Robin’s shining face the good news.
    “Shall I go to the gate to be there when they enter, think you?” asked Robin anxiously.
    “Do what seems best, my boy,” said Sir Peter. “Go stand beside Alan-at-Gate or stay you here by my side. I know what a fever of excitement is in thy bones, but do what you most want to do.” Robin felt as if he must run to meet the company, must see his father, and feel the comfort of his mother’s arms about him. Yet he felt timid about facing either of them. They would find him so changed.
    “If I stand beside you, my lord, they will surely knowit is I. If they see me in the courtyard, they may think I am but one of the stableboys. I shall stay here.”
    “Come, lad,” said Sir Peter. “Let us go to the window of the tower. There we can see the company cross the drawbridge, and before they have dismounted we can be back ready to welcome them in the Hall at the head of the stair.”
    Before leaving the Hall, Sir Peter called Denis the page and sent word to Lady Constance to be ready to greet the noble visitors. He and Robin went quickly up the winding stair to the turret overlooking the drawbridge. They reached it in time to hear the pounding of the hoofs on the timbers of the bridge and to see the waving banners. The handsome erect figure of Sir John de Bureford was fittingcompany for the noble-looking King. And there, there—now just passing into the courtyard—was Robin’s lovely mother, the veil of her coif floating and mingling with that of the Queen whom she attended.

    There was no time for greeting or waving. The tumult of horse and weapon made too much noise for voices to have been heard. Sir Peter grasped Robin and swung him across his back. They went swiftly back the way they had come and were standing in welcome at the head of the great staircase as the company entered.
    Who spoke first or what was first said it would be hard to tell. Robin found himself bowing to kiss his mother’s hand, then felt her soft arms about him.
    “Robin, my Robin,” she whispered, and for a moment said no more, but only held him close, as if she could not let him go. The crutches fell to the stone