The Door in the Wall by Marguerite De Angeli Page B

floor with a great clatter. Robin’s father bent to pick them up, laughing to keep from showing how deeply he was moved by the sight of them.
    “He is my son, too,” he said, gently tugging at the mother’s close-enfolding arms and holding Robin at arm’s length to look into his face.
    “You are grown,” he said. “Your eyes no longer out-race your chin as do a child’s. You’ve now the look of a youth!” Sir John embraced his son warmly. Nothing was said of crutches or of misshapen legs, or of ill fortune or of good.
    Sir Peter spoke. “Shall we not allow our guests to retire?”
    “Yes,” agreed the King. “Later we shall hear news of the war’s ending and how all have fared this long year. Let us go our several ways and meet again in the Hall, for we are spent with weariness and soiled with travel.”
    With another touch of his mother’s hand, Robin left the company and went to find Brother Luke and to make himself ready for the audience.
    There never was such merrymaking as took place in the Hall that Christmas Eve. Such ballads sung! Such tales told!
    Branches of holly and spruce decked the Hall and filled the air with fragrance. The yule log burned on the hearth and flaming torches filled the sconces.
    The King and Queen sat enthroned in the great chairs on the dais. A tapestry was draped on the screen behind them and rich Eastern carpets beneath.
    Sir Peter and Lady Constance sat at one side of the King and Queen and Sir John and Lady Maud at the other.
    Robin entered the Hall with Brother Luke as he had been commanded, and at a signal came forward to stand before the dais. He wore a black velvet doublet and carried the Saxon harp on his back. As usual, D’Ath followed at his heels.
    Robin felt as though the Hall were as long as London Bridge, for when he entered all was quiet, and his crutches seemed to make a great sound on the stone floor. Servants and courtiers bowed as he passed.
    What was going to happen?
    What had the King to say to him? Would his parents leave him and go back to London?
    At last he reached the dais. The King rose and stood over Robin, lifting from his own shoulders a chain of gold set with medallions of fine workmanship, then he spoke.
    “Can you kneel, my son?” he asked.
    “I can for a little time, Sire,” answered Robin, “long enough to say ‘Our Father’.” He dropped to the cushion, supporting himself with one crutch. The friar took the other.
    “Robin, son of Sir John de Bureford,” the King said solemnly, “it hath been told to us what service you have done for the lord of this castle and me, King of the whole realm of England and France. You are a true son of a noble father. Though but a youth, you have shown courage a man might be proud to call his own.”
    The King spread out the jeweled collar and dropped it onto Robin’s shoulders, saying, “This shall be a token of our high regard and with it go our grateful thanks.
    “Rise, young Robin,” he commanded, and himself raised Robin to his feet.
    Robin was filled with gratitude to the King, because now his father could be proud of him. He could not speak for a moment, and indeed knew of nothing to say. But cheers and hand clapping began to make such a noise and clatter that no speech could have been heard.
    When the noise had quieted a little, Robin was quieter, too. He remembered the carol he had been learning for this very night, and words came to him.
    “Sire,” Robin began, “I do thank you for this great honor, and I beg you to accept my song of Christmas.” He brought forward the little harp he had grown to love and sang this carol:
    Come to Bethlehem and see
    Him whose birth the angels sing;
    Come, adore on bended knee,
    Christ the Lord, the new-born King.
    Gloria in excelsis Deo
    Gloria in excelsis Deo.
    When the song was ended, once more the Hall rang with shouts and cheers. “Sir Robin! Sir Robin!” Robin found himself standing between his mother and his father.Sir Robin. Was it