"Certainly. He is Richard Burke, and leases the Wilcote Farm."
"Noble pair of brothers!" exclaimed Diggle, seizing Desmond's reluctant hand. "I congratulate you, my friend. What a brother! I stopped him to ask the time of day. But permit me to say, friend Desmond, you appear somewhat downcast; your countenance hath not that serenity one looks for in a lad of your years. What is the trouble?"
"Oh, nothing to speak of," said Desmond curtly; he was vexed that his face still betrayed the irritation of the morning.
"Very well," said Diggle with a shrug. "Far be it from me to probe your sorrows. They are nothing to me, but sure a simple question from a friend----"
"Pardon me, Mr. Diggle," said Desmond impulsively, "I did not mean to offend you."
"My dear boy, a tough-hided traveller does not easily take offence.--Shall we walk?--D'you know, Master Desmond, I fancy I could make a shrewd guess at your trouble. Your brother--Richard, I think you said?--is a farmer, he was born a farmer, he has the air of a farmer, and a well-doing farmer to boot. But we are not all born with a love for mother-earth, and you, meseems, have dreamed of a larger life than lies within the pinfolds of a farm. To tell the truth, my lad, I have been studying you." They were walking now side by side along the Newport road. Desmond felt that the stranger was becoming personal; but his manner was so suave and sympathetic that he could not take offence. "Yes, I have been studying you," continued Diggle. "And what is the sum of my discovery? You are wasting your life here. A country village is no place for a boy of ideas and imagination, of warm blood and springing fancy. The world is wide, my friend: why not adventure forth?"
"I have indeed thought of it, Mr. Diggle, but----"
"But me no buts," interrupted Diggle with a smile. "Your age is----"
"Near sixteen."
"Ah, still a boy; you have a year ere you reach the bourn of young manhood, as the Romans held it! But what matters that? Was not Scipio Africanus--namesake of the ingenuous youth that serves me--styled boy at twenty? Yet you are old enough to walk alone, and not in leading strings,--or waiting maybe for dead men's shoes."