Before the king stood an equally picturesque personage, although at first sight you hardly noticed the features or colouring that went to make up the gallant figure of the man. It was the erect, proud bearing, the vivid life, the eagerness of a high-strung nature, now controlled by the courtesy due to his companion. His buff coat and crimson sash were like those worn by the boy, and the velvet cap he carried in his hand left uncovered curls as brown; but instead of the childish calm of the boy's hazel eyes, the older man's glance now flashed with the fire of an eagle, now glowed with the exalted enthusiasm of a poet. It was no wonder that the boy watched him with a look of dog-like adoration that scarcely spared a glance for the king himself. Young Dick's king stood before him in truth, and his name was not Charles Stuart but Thomas Harrison.
"Show us thy new sword, Dick," whispered a young cornet, whose laughing eyes danced in very unpuritanical fashion.
Dick moved forward, and the firelight gleamed on the slender blade as he held it out.
"By my faith, a rare bit of steel! And how many king's men hast thou skewered with it?"
"None, sir," answered Dick, seriously. "My uncle hath only let me use the foils hitherto."
"Wise uncle!" laughed the other. "He would not expose even our deadliest enemies to the blow of such a paladin. But, hark 'ee, Dick, dost know the king hath sent for thine uncle to make him a duke?"
"No, no," broke in another young soldier, "'tis not a duke; he is to be sworn of the king's privy council, and have the Garter."
Dick looked gravely at the laughing speaker.
"It would be good if the king would make Uncle Tom a councillor," he said.
"Well said, boy," chimed in an older man. "If his Majesty took Major Harrison's counsel, our cause were won; but the stars will go withershins ere that come to pass."