"Buy back the Moat, will he? Poor lad, poor lad! He may well lie on his back with a bee like that in his bonnet,—ha! ha! ha! Excuse me, my dear, for it really is the most ludicrous thing I have heard for years. Buy back the Moat with money that he will earn!—Poor lad, poor lad!"
"He is not 'poor lad' at all, father," said Evelyn, indignantly; "he has plenty of great, good thoughts in him."
"I dare say he has, but they will always be only thoughts. I cannot help laughing, Evelyn. Why, his pale face and thin body haven't enough life in them to do much harm or good in this world, poor lad. So he is going to buy back the Moat! Well, all I can say is, let him, if he can; we needn't feel very much alarmed at him, my little woman."
"I am not at all alarmed, father," said Evelyn, with some vexation at his disrespectful mirth.
"No, I should think not, child, it's too comical to be serious about; but I rather like his spirit, I didn't know it was in him, even to dream about."
"Father is quite disagreeable this morning," thought Evelyn. "I almost think I shall be on Guy's side, and wish he may buy it back some day. What fun it would be! Poor lad, indeed! I cannot think what makes my father talk in that way." And she tried to believe that the face was not so very pale, and the long, thin figure not so very weak, though by the stout, strong proportions of Squire Hazelwood, whom, had she lived some years later in the world's age, she might have been disposed to pronounce "jolly," Guy certainly did not look robust—or vulgar.
Then his tastes were singular, and not usually such as obtained sympathy from the Squire, though Mr. Herbert's report of him as a student was thoroughly satisfactory. He would spend hours watching the clouds; would steal among the cattle, and coax them into picturesque groups; tether a sheep or a goat, and take its portrait; study every variety of foliage that adorned the changing seasons; and within the cover of his little despised portfolio, treasured art-secrets that should be revealed some future day.
Mr. Herbert observed and was disappointed; he would have preferred a different career for his interesting pupil. Mrs. Falconer observed, and waited too; perhaps she also would gladly have seen indications of a desire for some remunerative profession or pursuit; but her means of promoting it being very small, she did not venture too urgently to propose a decision.
"Time enough yet," the Squire would say, in order to comfort her concerning her boy; "he has not strength of body yet to bear him through any great struggle in life. Another year of these green fields and old woods that he seems to love so much, and then Master Guy must shake himself up, and tell us what he is fit for."
But Guy was not idle, and would take no mean place as a scholar if sent into either of the public schools; and the rapid development of his talent as an artist was secretly proved by the occupation of every hour that could be devoted to this overruling aim.