"But my dear Eustace," inquired Constantia, "what are you to be?"
"A soldier to be sure," replied the boy. "Have you not heard that the King has set up his standard at Nottingham. My father has parted with our farm, and raised a levy of troops among the mountaineers, and he is going to follow them to the King, with all the money he has left, except a little which he leaves for Isabel."
"I tell you, brother," returned the sister, "we will dispute that point no longer. The King is to have every shilling; for I know how to support myself by my own labour."
"She shall never do that while we have a house—Shall she, aunt Mellicent?" said Constantia.
"No," returned the good lady; "honest people are now scarce, so we must take care of each other. But, Eustace, does your father approve of your turning soldier while you are such a child?"
"No, dear aunt, and that is the only trouble I ever knew, except the death of our blessed mother. I don't know his reasons, but he wants to place me in safety; I hate safety, it sounds so womanish. As we came along I met several fellows less than myself, who said they were ensigns. I know I could make an ensign; I could wrap the colours round my body, and die with the staff in my hand."
Constantia burst into tears, and declared Eustace talked so shockingly she could not bear it.
"My pretty love," said he, "I did not mean to frighten you. No, I intend, instead of being killed myself, to tear down the rebel standards, and send them to you. What would you do with them?"
Constantine paused a moment—"Would they," said she, "make a tent for my dear father to sit and read in? It goes to my heart to see him out of doors this stormy weather, wandering about and looking at his burnt library."
"Could I not put it a little in repair while I stay?" inquired Eustace. "I am a very good mason, and a tolerable carpenter. I built a shed last year for the old poney. Isabel, you can glaze the windows, and white-wash. I think, between us, we might put it into comfortable order."