John, wearing his second-best livery, which he always affected in Wales, delivered the mandate at Jim Lascelles’ lodgings in Pen-y-Gros hamlet, but that hero and his mother had gone down to the lake. They were joined there presently by a cheerful party of four persons. Jim Lascelles was very heartily congratulated upon the heroism he had displayed.
“It has given great pleasure at the Castle,” said Cheriton, “where heroism is always, and I think justly, admired. My friend Brancaster will exert himself to get you a medal. Doubtless your Sovereign will present it to you.”
George Betterton, in the manner of a true-blue Englishman, went the length of shaking the hero very heartily by the hand.
“Great pleasure to me, Mr. Lascelles,” said that worthy, “to hear of your gallant action. Congratulate you heartily. Would have given great pleasure to your gallant father.”
Jim Lascelles laid down his palette with an air of tremendous truculence.
“To whom am I indebted for this?” said he. “Which of them is it? I suspect that Goose.”
“They are both of them Geese,” said Jim’s mother.
“Aunt Caroline thinks it is so splendid of you,” said Muffin, who was seated on the pebbles for the purpose of removing her shoes and stockings. “She has invited you and dear Mrs. Lascelles to dinner.”
“You incomparably foolish person,” said Jim. “I’ve a great mind now not to paint your picture.”
“A pair of irresponsible babblers,” said Jim’s mother, whose eyes were really very much brighter than they had any need to be. “One is as bad as the other. But an old woman feels very proud of her son all the same.”