"And," continued the youth, rather bitterly, "I believe, and know you believe, that neither father nor grandfather were guilty of any treason, that there's a mistake somewhere. Yet—yet I have to stand all this. Squire Vivian looks upon me with an angry look. Sir James Lanyan looks upon me as if I was a dog. Master Richard called me a traitor's cub, because I happened to be in his way this morning, and if he hadn't been on horse-back I would have made him take it back—and—and—I hate them. I hate them all!" The lad's face was marked with passion, his fists clenched, and there was an angry tear in his eye that he could not conceal. "Why does God allow all this? Why—and—and—but I'm not going to stay here and bear it."
The parson looked grave and turned the conversation for a moment by asking the name of the author of the song he had heard.
"The Song of the Lark, you mean? That was made by my father, and my mother taught me to sing it when I could first finger the harp. The harp is the only thing we have now that used to belong to the Manor." There was a sad ring in the boy's voice that but indicated the feelings within.
"Do you believe in the truth of that song?"
"Yes," responded the lad.
"Well, why don't you put in application the thought?" and Parson Trant quoted the words:
"'What can sadness avail,
Injustice shall fall, and good shall prevail.'
Now, Ande," continued the parson, "I know the history of your family almost as well as you. Your grandfather was a faithful subject of the king. He fought with Gardner at Prestonpans, at Culloden, and also against the French in the American colonies. He disappeared after Braddock's defeat and was shot a year afterward by General Armstrong's troops, by mistake, no doubt. Now consider,—at the time he had on a tattered French uniform, with a commission as captain in the French army in his pocket. These things were brought to England and, through the instrumentality of Sir Richard Lanyan, father of Sir James, the attention of the authorities was directed toward them and the Manor confiscated. Under the circumstances was not the king justified in suspicioning his loyalty? Consider, too, that England and the Hanover dynasty had been threatened seriously, by the Pretender, with another invasion of French troops. Culloden was still fresh in men's minds. Cornwall was noted for her adherence to the Stuarts in the Cromwellian wars, and even at the time of the young Pretender many noted Cornish families sympathised with him and the Stuart claims. You know the story of Burnuhall[1], and how young Prince Charles, the Pretender, spent several nights there in concealment. Do you wonder at a ready ear being given to suspicion coming from this quarter? Blame not the king or your fellows, my lad. The suspicion was natural, although the friends of your family believe that there was a mistake somewhere. Hope for the best and bear up cheerfully, my lad. You misapplied my remark some moments ago about God being unjust and that therefore you could not sing His praise. My remark applied only to men and not to God. God is above our judgment. He cannot be measured by our standards. You spoke about playing the harp. It was hard work to learn, was it not?"
[1] Burnuhall—A fine old mansion near the English Channel in the parish of Buryan, Cornwall, England. Sheltered the young Pretender in 1746.