“No, Frank,” Sir William answered hastily, and, putting by the papers he held, motioned Hugh to come over to him. “I remember you very well, sir,” he began. “You were home with Frank one Michaelmas time. So you ran away from that school? ’Twas very well done of you. That man Masham is a cozening, foul-mouthed knave of a crop-headed Puritan.” Sir William’s face flushed and Frank made haste to change the subject. “You promised me Hugh should stay with me, sir, you’ll recollect.”
“If he care to,” Sir William made answer. “You look sober enough, Master Gwyeth, to keep my lad in proper behavior.”
“I would gladly serve you, Sir William, in any way I could,” Hugh said earnestly. “I think I could fight—”
Sir William began laughing. “Call yourself a gentleman volunteer, if ’tis any satisfaction to you,” he said, and seemed about to end the conversation; but, after a second glance at Hugh, asked abruptly in a lower tone, “Between ourselves, sir, what vice was there in you wherefore your father would not entertain you?”
“I did not chance to please him,” Hugh answered.
“But you are his only son, are you not?” asked Sir William, looking, not at Hugh, but at Frank, who was still kneeling by the table.
“Yes, Sir William,” Hugh replied, with his eyes suddenly lowered.
The baronet was silent a moment, then, “Stay with us as long as you please, my lad,” he said in a kinder tone than he had yet used, and with that, abruptly taking up his papers, turned again to his secretary.
Hugh came out in silence from the little parlor, and for a time, while he enjoyed the realization that he had not lost a boy’s capacity for feeling happy and hopeful, could make no reply to Frank’s brisk chatter. But, before the evening was over, he made amends to Master Pleydall, for, snugly settled in a window-seat with his friend, he recounted to him not only the distinctions he hoped to win in the war, but all that had befallen him in the last six months. Frank, hugging his knees in his excitement, wished audibly he had been with Hugh to run away; two days without food seemed so slight a thing when told. But Strangwayes’ share in events surprised him enough to make him leave clasping his knees and sit up straight: “Met my Cousin Dick? What good fortune for you! He used to be a gay kindly fellow, the best liked of all my father’s nephews. What manner of man is he grown now?”
Hugh’s eager account made Frank look dubious. “Very like when he comes again you’ll not wish to be my comrade any more,” he suggested jealously.