"My orders are sufficient, I should think; so none of your impertinence," cried Philip, with a raised colour; and lifting his hand, in which he held his ramrod, he shook it menacingly over the gardener's head,—"I've a great mind to——"
"What's the matter, Philip?" cried the good-humoured voice of his father. "Fie!"
"This fellow does not mind what I say, sir."
"I did not like to cut the boughs of the lime-trees without your orders, sir," said the gardener.
"No, it would be a pity to cut them. You should consult me there, Master Philip;" and the father shook him by the collar with a good-natured, and affectionate, but rough sort of caress.
"Be quiet, father!" said the boy, petulantly and proudly; "or," he added, in a lower voice, but one which showed emotion, "my cousin may think you mean less kindly than you always do, sir."
The father was touched: "Go and cut the lime-boughs, John; and always do as Mr. Philip tells you."
The mother was behind, and she sighed audibly. "Ah! dearest, I fear you will spoil him."
"Is he not your son? and do we not owe him the more respect for having hitherto allowed others to—"
He stopped, and the mother could say no more. And thus it was, that this boy of powerful character and strong passions had, from motives the most amiable, been pampered from the darling into the despot.