As he came to the last line, Rose returning exclaimed, “Oh, hush, Lucy. Pray don’t, Walter!”
“Ha! Rose turned Roundhead?” cried Walter. “You don’t deserve to hear the good news from Worcester.”
“O, what?” cried the girls, eagerly.
“When it comes,” said Walter, delighted to have taken in Rose herself; but Rose, going up to him gently, implored him to be quiet, and listen to her.
“All this noisy rejoicing grieves our mother,” said she. “If you could but have seen her yesterday evening, when she heard your loyal songs. She sighed, and said, ‘Poor fellow, how high his hopes are!’ and then she talked of our father and that evening before the fight at Naseby.”
Walter looked grave and said, “I remember! My father lifted me on the table to drink King Charles’s health, and Prince Rupert—I remember his scarlet mantle and white plume—patted my head, and called me his little cavalier.”
“We sat apart with mother,” said Rose, “and heard the loud cheers and songs till we were half frightened at the noise.”
“I can’t recollect all that,” said Lucy.
“At least you ought not to forget how our dear father came in with Edmund, and kissed us, and bade mother keep up a good heart. Don’t you remember that, Lucy?”
“I do,” said Walter; “it was the last time we ever saw him.”