“The more reason,” he said, “that the boy should have a protector.”
“True,” Bassett answered. “I have thought much of that. But I hope to have time yet to place him somewhere where he can follow my craft and build his own fortunes.”
“And you would throw away his advancement for a dream?”
“Is it a dream?” said the carver. “Believe me, your worship, that, although you may find it hard to believe, we men of art have our ambitions as strong in us as in the proudest knight of King Edward’s court. Hugh has that in him which I have fostered and cherished, and which I believe will bear fruit hereafter and bring him, or his art, fame.”
“Small profits, I fear me,” said Sir Thomas.
“That is like enough. It may be not even a name. But something will he have done, as I believe, for the glory of God and the honour of his art.”
“Well,” said the knight, half vexed, “I have made thee a fair offer, and the rest lies with thyself. Where go you after the fair?”
“By Friar Nicholas’s advice, gentle sir, as far as to Exeter. He thinks I may meet with work there and a softer air.”
“Since thy father will have nought better, I must find a gift for thee, boy,” said the knight, reining back his horse. He drew a richly-chased silver whistle from his breast and threw it to the boy. “Take good care of Agrippa; my little Nell would have broken her heart if she had heard he was gone. Good day, friend Matthew; good day, Master Carver.”
The next moment the little party had clattered away, leaving Hugh with thanks faltering on his tongue, and Matthew on tip-toe with pride at his own discernment.