“Don’t name it, Lighton, I beg you. It is a matter of no moment to me. The child is welcome to his food and shelter. He is no trouble to me, and the servants seem to enjoy having him.”
“Well, but there is the future to consider,” said Dr. Lighton. “You are very generous and kind, but if this oblivion of the past continues, what of the future?”
The Squire waved his hand as if to dismiss the subject.
“The future, I find, generally manages to take care of itself. I have no doubt he will eventually remember something by which we can identify him; and if not, why, I must do what I can; I am ready to take my chance.”
“You are very good,” said the young doctor. “I had no idea of letting you in for anything so serious.”
The Squire would not let him say more.
“The house is big enough for us both,” he said, rather curtly, “and that is all that matters. He is welcome to stay till he is claimed.”
So Bertie stayed on in the unquestioning confidence of childhood, and at times he would almost forget that all his life had not been spent at the old Manor House.
For the most part Bertie was happy enough in the society of little companions not much older than himself; but he had his own troubles to bear, as all of us have, and one of these was of a rather curious nature.
The boating excursions to which Phil had so eagerly looked forward became in due course a reality. The fisherman, David’s father, and his two big sons, returned from their long excursion in search of herrings, and they were quite ready to take out parties of pleasure in their large boat, or to let the little one to the boys to row themselves along the coast, provided David were of the party.