in the terrible war."

"A great King! A great King!" the man sneered. "And how great is he?
He is so great that he objected to painting St. Paul's Cathedral as
being too much like the Roman Catholic custom. He is so great that he
doesn't like Shakespeare, but he laughs to split his sides at farces
and pantomimes, where clowns swallow carrots and strings of sausages.
He is so great that he spends much of his time learning the exact
number of buttons, tags and laces, and the cut of all the cocked-hats,
pigtails, and gaiters in his army. Oh, yes, he is so great that he is
always meddling in other people's affairs. He pokes his red face into
every cottage for miles around. Imagine the King of England going
about in his old wig, shovel-hat, and Windsor uniform, hob-nobbing with
pig-boys, and old women making apple dumplings, and hurrahing with lazy
louts early in the morning! That is the great King of England! How
proud you must be of such a creature."

"I am proud of him," Jean retorted, "and you should not misrepresent
him. The people love him for his pure and simple manner of living. He
goes among them that he might know how they live, for he wants to help
them all he can. They call him 'Farmer George,' so I have heard my
father say, and I am sure that is an honour for any King."

"Queer honour, I should say, Miss. And he won great honour in his
fight with America, didn't he? He was going to teach the colonies a
lesson, and whip them into line. I'd like to have seen his old red
face when the news of the defeat of his forces reached him. He's
getting his punishment now, and he'll get more before he's through. He
ruined me, an honest man. But he's getting his turn. I've heard that
he goes out of his mind at times, and that his sons are turning out