"Wake up, Mary," he called, tweaking one of her brown curls; "I promised your mother that I would bring you back by five o'clock, and we must go now."
Mary assented, as she usually did to whatever George proposed, and in five minutes she had sprung into the red saddle and cantered off to the first tying-place.
"Where's mother?" cried George, entering the house half an hour later.
"She's gone to Mrs. McCurdie's for tea," replied May Gray, the Scotch woman who had been George's nurse.
"Then I'll get Mary to come and have tea with me," and Master Byron hurried down the stairs and through his neighbor's gate. He returned shortly, bringing Mary with him; and the children were in the midst of their meal, when the street door was thrown hastily open and Mrs. Byron stepped into the room. Her cheeks were scarlet, and her eyes flashing with excitement.
"What is it, mother?" demanded George, rising, alarmed by her visible agitation.
Mrs. Byron placed both hands upon his shoulders, and looking down into his eyes, said hurriedly,—
"Your great-uncle, Lord Byron, is dead; and you, George, are now Lord Byron of Rochdale, master of Newstead Abbey, and chief of the Erneis."
The boy looked bewildered, and resting one hand upon the table for support, he bent earnestly toward his mother.
"I am Lord Byron?"