Once upon a time... long, long ago... in a huge beautiful castle, there lived a king, his queen, and their only son, the royal prince! Now, since the young prince was their only son and heir to the throne, the royal couple spoiled the boy! Whatever Prince Tarby... for that was his name... wanted, he received! Whatever he did was never wrong! As the king put it...

"Tarby is the royal prince! He can do no wrong!"

"The young prince pushed me into the moat, Your Majesty!" the visiting Prime Minister shouted as he ringed the water out of his clothes. "If he were my child, I'd whip him black and blue for..."

"Well, he's not your child! He's the royal prince! The royal prince does not get whipped! Understand?"

"Y-Yes, Your Majesty. Thank you, Your Majesty."

Later, the king returned to his chamber to complain to the queen. "Hmmph! The nerve of him... suggesting that I whip dear Tarby..."

"Well, Irving! Actually, the boy deserves a whipping! He ruined the Prime Minister's new outfit!"

"Too bad! If the Prime Minister is so anxious to whip someone, let him whip his own child..."

"But it was Tarby who..."

"Zounds, Matilda! I've got it! I've got the answer to our problem! Come with me, Tarby!"

"Irving! Where are you going..."

"The king ordered his coach! Then, he and the young prince drove down from the castle to the peasant village far below.

"Make way! Make way!" the coachman shouted.

The peasants twittered amongst themselves.

"It's the king..."

"...and the prince!"

"The coach is stopping!"

The king poked his head out of the coach and scanned the sea of faces before him! Suddenly, he pointed... "You! Come here!"

"He points to the baker's child!"

"What does he want with him?"

The king stared down at the small boy before him... then at Tarby... then at the boy again! With a grunt of satisfaction, he nodded... "Yes, very good! Very good! Where is your mother or your father, you ragamuffin?"

An old man approached and said, "I am the boy's father, Your Majesty! What... what do you want with him?"

"The boy is coming with me... to the castle! He will live there... as Prince Tarby's companion!"

"No! No! He is my son! You cannot take him from me!"

"Would you deny your son the advantages I can offer him? Good food? Good clothes? An education?"

"N-no! But... But..."

The coach door swung open. "Get in, boy! I command you!"

"The king orders you, my son!"

The baker's son held his father close and sobbed. "No! Father, no!"

The boy's father pushed his young son into the coach. "Do not cry, son! It is for your own good! Will we... Will we be able to see him again, Your Majesty?"

"At Christmas! I will let him come home for Christmas! All right, coachman!"

"Make way, make way!"

The baker's son was taken to the castle! But when he arrived, he soon found out that there was more to it than just being spoiled Prince Tarby's companion! There was a catch...

"...and from now on, ladies and gentlemen of the court, when Prince Tarby is bad, he is to be punished! But... you will not whip Prince Tarby! You will whip... his companion here! You will whip Prince Tarby's whipping boy..."

And so, the first whipping boy came into being! The poor baker's son became Prince Tarby's whipping substitute! Anytime Prince Tarby was bad, the whipping boy was punished...

"It was wrong of you to put the cat in the oven, Tarby!" the royal chef shouted as he spanked the sobbig boy.

"Yes, royal chef! I won't do it again, royal chef!" The smirk the prince made said otherwise.

Not only was the whipping boy thrashed for Prince Tarby's misdoings, there were other substitutions...

"What do you mean, you hate baths? You got to take a bath! Now, come on..."

"Just one moment, royal washer! Oh, whipping boy!"

"Yes, Prince Tarby!"

The whipping boy was made to substitute for all of the prince's distasteful responsibilities...

"Spinach is good for you! You must eat your spinach, Prince Tarby!"

"Yes, royal diatician. Er... whipping boy?"

"Pass me your plate... Prince Tarby..."

Summer passed, and fall came to the kingdom! And with it came...

"Go to school? I hate school! The royal whipping boy will attend school for me, royal tutor! Er... whipping boy?"

"Yes, Prince Tarby! When do I start, royal tutor?"

"Tomorrow morning, royal whipping boy! Eight o' clock!"

And so, the whipping boy even had to go to school for Prince Tarby! There wasn't anything that Prince Tarby disliked that he had to do! The royal whipping boy did them all...

"Your room is a disgrace, Prince Tarby! Toys all over! Clean it up!"

"Royal whipping boy!"

But worst was when Prince Tarby was bad on purpose... just to see the whipping boy receive the whipping...

"And I hope this teaches you a lesson young man!" the maid shouted as she spanked the baker's son with a brush while the spoiled prince looked on with a smile.

Finally, winter drew near! The first snow blanketed the castle and the castle grounds...

"It's almost Christmastime, Prince Tarby! Soon I will see my mother and father again... and Santa Claus will come and fill my stockings and bring me presents!"

"Ho, ho! Listen to the whipping boy! Don't you know that Santa Claus doesn't bring things to bad little boys?"

"But I haven't been bad! I..."

"You've been punished, haven't you? I've seen it! I've seen you whipped a dozens times or more a week! Only bad little boys get whipped! I don't get whipped! Santa will visit me... not you!"

Finally, on the day before Christmas, a coach brought the baker's son... the whipping boy... down from the castle to the village far below... to the child's mother and father...

"My baby! My baby!" wept the mother.

"My son!" shouted the baker as he wrapped his son in his arms.

"Mommy! Daddy!" sobbed the boy as he held onto them.

"I'll be back to pick him up tomorrow!" the coachman shouted as he drove off.

Soon, he'd told his mother and father all about the castle and why the king had brought him in there...

"...and so, if he's bad, I get whipped for him! But it doesn't make me bad, does it, father... Mother?"

"Of course not, my child!"

"The dirty..." cursed the baker.

"...then, Santa Claus will fill my stocking... and he will bring me presents!"

"Well, I... we..." was all the baker's wife could say.

"Of course, my son! Why shouldn't he?" asked the baker.

"Because, Prince Tarby said Santa wouldn't! He said bad little boys get whipped, and since I got whipped..."

"Never you mind, my son! Go... hang up a stocking... the biggest one you can find!"

And so, with tears of joy streaming down his little face, the royal whipping boy hung up a large threadbare stocking...

"Herkimer! You know we have no money! How could we..." the baker's wife scolded her husband.

"Hush, Susquehannah! The boy will hear you!"

Then he climbed into his bed and fell fast asleep... a faint smile on his tear-stained face...

"How could you promise the boy, Herkimer? You know we're broke! Now he'll expect Santa Claus to fill his stocking and give him presents!"

"The king should do it, Susquehannah! The king should do it! After all the boy's been through... he owes it to him! The king should fill Melvin's stocking! And I'm going to ask him to..."

"Herkimer! Come back! He'll laugh at you! He'll laugh..."

What happened next? Well, let's just say it ended just as the baker's wife predicted. And so, that night...

"He... he laughed at me, Susquehannah!"

"Come to bed, Herkimer!"

But, the next morning...

"Daddy! Mommy! Wake up! Wake up! Santa was here!"

"Huh?"

"Wha...?"

The boy skipped and danced as he led his sleepy-eyed parents to the pile of gayly wrapped packages...

"See? See?"

"Well, I'll be..."

"Look! A note! What does it say, Herkimer?"

"It says, 'Merry Christmas, Melvin! Since you were the prince's whipping boy, you deserve his presents! And there's one for your daddy, too... just as he asked for!' And it's signed, 'Santa Claus'!"

Indeed, there was a present for the whipping boy's daddy, but it was not quite as he'd expected! The stocking, hanging over the dusty old fireplace, bulged strangely! It was red and sticky and a scarlet stream dripped from the hole in its toe to the warm hearth...

"Look, Herkimer!"

"Dear Lord!"

Yes... Herkimer wanted the king to fill Melvin's stocking, so Santa had given him what he wanted!