“N-o-o,—that is to say, yes! I can; my old servant Collard is out of place, and is as ignorant as—as—”
“I—or you are?” said Lord St. George, with a laugh.
“Precisely,” replied the baronet.
“Well, then, I take your recommendation: send him to me to-morrow at twelve.”
“I will,” said Sir Christopher.
“My dear Findlater,” cried Clarence, when Lord St. George was gone, “did you not tell me, some time ago, that Collard was a great rascal, and very intimate with Jefferies? and now you recommend him to Lord St. George!”
“Hush, hush, hush!” said the baronet; “he was a great rogue to be sure: but, poor fellow, he came to me yesterday with tears in his eyes, and said he should starve if I would not give him a character; so what could I do?”
“At least, tell Lord St. George the truth,” observed Clarence.
“But then Lord St. George would not take him!” rejoined the good-hearted Sir Christopher, with forcible naivete. “No, no, Linden, we must not be so hard-hearted; we must forgive and forget;” and so saying, the baronet threw out his chest, with the conscious exultation of a man who has uttered a noble sentiment. The moral of this little history is that Lord St. George, having been pillaged “through thick and thin,” as the proverb has it, for two years, at last missed a gold watch, and Monsieur Collard finished his career as his exemplary tutor, Mr. John Jefferies, had done before him. Ah! what a fine thing it is to have a good heart!
But to return. Just as our wanderers had arrived at the farther end of the park, Lady Westborough and her daughter passed them. Clarence, excusing himself to his friend, hastened towards them, and was soon occupied in saying the prettiest things in the world to the prettiest person, at least in his eyes; while Sir Christopher, having done as much mischief as a good heart well can do in a walk of an hour, returned home to write a long letter to his mother, against “learning and all such nonsense, which only served to blunt the affections and harden the heart.”