“Ragged breeches, mother?” said the old fellow, chuckling; “but I will. That’s her pride, Phil, my boy. Now she wears caps made of real lace, she wants to forget how humble she used to be.”
“Nothing of the kind, James,” said the pleasant lady tartly; “I’m not ashamed of our humble beginnings, but I am ashamed to make vulgar remarks.”
“That’s a knock-down, Phil, my boy,” said Mr Hexton. “There, I won’t mention them again, mother. But come, we are running away from our subject. I’m heartily glad to see you back, Phil,” he cried; and there was a little moisture gathered in his eyes as he spoke; “and I thank God to see that you have grown into so fine, healthy, and sturdy a fellow. God bless you, my boy! God bless you!”
He had left his seat at the foot of the table, and came round to stand beside his son, patting his shoulder, and then taking and wringing his hand. He half bent down, too, once, as if to kiss the broad sunburnt forehead, but altered his mind directly, as he thought it would be weak, and ended by going and sitting down once more.
“There’s plenty of time, of course,” he said, “but somehow I shouldn’t dislike to have it settled. Have you ever thought about the matter, Phil?”
“Yes, father, deeply,” said the young man, rising, and then standing holding his mother’s hand. “I like sport, and games, and a bit of idleness sometimes, especially for a Continental trip.”
“Well, if you call that idleness, Phil,” said the elder, rubbing his legs, “give me the hardest day’s work in the pit. Remember our climbing up the Gummy Pass, mother, last year?”
“Oh, don’t talk about it, father,” said the old lady. “But then we are not so young as we used to be. Go on, Philip, my dear.”
She held on tightly by her son’s hand as she spoke, and kept gazing up at him with a wonderfully proud look.
“Well, father, as I say, I like a bit of change.”