"Then he should go to the Continent, and study at Paris, and if possible in Italy," gently suggested Mistress Hazelwood.
"Whew! Why, Dorothy, I should not have thought of a Christian woman like you seconding such a scheme. I don't like it, my dear wife. Tell him I'll provide him with paint-pots enough for decorating the whole parish, and he had better make up his mind to stay at home."
"But you would like him to excel in whatever he is to earn his living by," gently urged the lady.
"Oh yes, of course, but he can do that without going into all sorts of mischief among infidels and papists and what not. Paint forsooth! Let him paint the house, it wants it badly; and then we'll see what can be done next."
"Very well, Roger," said Mrs. Hazelwood, with her merry little laugh, which her husband said always drove away bad humours, "then I will see that Guy abides by your decision; he is to paint the house, and you will consider what he is to do next."
"Agreed, fair mistress," said the Squire, looking amused and puzzled. "How much paint? How many brushes?"
"The boy had better choose them himself, I think, lest the workman complain of his tools," said the fair mistress, demurely.
"Methinks thou art reckoning wrong this time, Dorothy; the poor lad will never do anything so useful as paint a house. I am sorry for his mother, she is so good and sensible, and will be sorely disappointed in him."
"Well, we shall see. I hope you are not going to be like the Pope, Roger."
"Protestantism forbid! How, pray?"