“Serve thy ’prenticeship first and talk of fighting afterwards. Dost thou think King Edward takes little varlets of eleven years old to make his army? Besides—speak not of it, Hugh. My heart is set upon thy carrying on my work. Life has not been sweet for me, and ’tis likely to be short; let me see some fruit before I die.”
The boy flung his arms round Bassett’s neck.
“Father, talk not like that! I will be what thou wilt!”
“Thou wilt? Promise me, then,” said his father eagerly.
“I promise.”
Stephen Bassett’s breath came short and fast.
“See here, Hugh. Thou art young in years but quick of understanding, and hast been my close companion of late. Thou art ready to engage, as far as thou canst—I would not bind thee too closely,” he added, reluctantly—“to renounce those blood-letting dreams of thine, and follow my trade, and, as I well believe thou wilt, make our name famous?”
“Ay,” said the little lad gravely, “that will I do. Only—”
“What?”
“If I must needs be cutting something, I would sooner ’twere stone than wood.”