"A thimbleful afore 'ee goos, souls. Mugs all, an' lift up your hearts in a noble cheer for Squire an' Lady Squire, wishen 'em long life an' a happy end. All together now; spet it out o' your wynd-pipes; hurray! hurray! hurray!"
CHAPTER XXVII
Visitors at Winton Hall
Weather-bound—A Home Circle—Marlborough Unbends—Of Princes—A Certain Harry Rochester
One January evening, in the year 1712, a little group was gathered in the turret-room of Winton Hall. The wind was roaring without; snow had been falling steadily all day; but within all was warmth and peace. A big wood fire blazed on the open hearth, lighting up with its ruddy glare as charming a scene as any English country-house could show. It was the children's hour; little Eustace Berkeley, a sturdy boy of five, stood by his mother's knee on one side of the hearth, and on the other, Mary, two years younger, nestled in her father's arms.
Squire Berkeley looked up from his copy of the Courant.
"The duke is dismissed from all his offices, Adèle."
"What that mean, Faver?" said the boy instantly.
"The Queen has sent away the great man who fought her battles so bravely; he will hang up his sword and perhaps never use it again."
"Why did the naughty Queen send the great duke away, Faver?"