“And where is Benson?”
“We don’t know, your lordship. We think he have been come for!”
“Come for—by whom?”
William stammered, and seemed at a loss for a reply.
“Quick! answer! what do you know about it?”
William said at last, rather as if he were making a speech:
“Your royaliness, and my lords and ladies, it was like this. His royaliness comed in with a rug over his arm, and summat under it. And he lays it down on that there seat, and Thomas shows him into the droring-room. Then Benson says: ‘Dinner’ll be ready in five minutes; how tired I do feel! ‘Then he takes the libbuty of sitting hisself down on his royaliness’s rug, and he says, asking your pardon, ‘I ‘ve had about enough of service here. I ‘m about tired, and I thinks of bettering myself. I wish I was at the king’s court, and butler.’
But before the words was out of his mouth, off he flies like a shot through the open door, and his royaliness’s parcel with him. I run to the door, and there he was, flying right hover the town, in a northerly direction. And that’s all I know; for I would not tell a lie, not if it was hever so. And me, and Thomas—as didn’t see it,—and cook, we thinks as how Benson was come for. And cook says as she don’t wonder at it, neither; for a grumblinger, more ill-conditioneder—”