"The French, sir, called Captain Jones foolhardy when he sailed into the narrow seas with the Ranger sloop, and they had fifty-five sail of the line holding on to their anchors at L'Orient; but he came back all safe, and brought the Drake with him. And they said he was worse than foolhardy when he went out in the poor old Bon Homme Richard; but he came back again, and that time he brought the Serapis—huzza!" Here Archy got up and cut a pigeon-wing, nearly upsetting Diggory with a tray full of cups and saucers.
"Let me tell you one thing, young man," remarked Colonel Baskerville, coolly; "you have a very clever trick of always having the last word, but don't imagine for a moment that it proves you are always right. Clever tricks count for but little in the long-run."
Archy went into a brown-study at this remark, and at the end of ten minutes came out of it to say:
"Uncle, I believe you know a great deal, one way and another."
"Hear! hear!" said Colonel Baskerville, sarcastically. "A young gentleman not yet seventeen gracefully admits that a man three times his age actually knows something! You amaze me, nephew."
"I don't admit that I don't know anything," stoutly protested Archy.
"Far from it, my dear boy. You know more now than you ever will, if you live to be a hundred. Every year of your life you will know less—in your own estimation, that is. But at present you have nothing to learn."
At which Archy laughed rather sheepishly, and went on with his breakfast.
Immediately after breakfast the splendid coach-and-four, with outriders, was drawn up at the main entrance, and Lord Bellingham appeared, magnificently dressed, with his breast covered with orders, and a diamond-hilted sword on his hip. He entered the coach, taking the middle of the back seat, while Colonel Baskerville and Archy sat facing him.
It was a beautifully clear December morning, and when the horses took the road through the park at a rattling gait, it was exhilarating in the highest degree. Colonel Baskerville's plain but kindly face lighted up, and even Lord Bellingham seemed to feel a briskness in the blood. But Archy grew unaccountably grave. He had an indefinable feeling that he was leaving it all for the last time, and caught himself involuntarily looking around at the gray old castle on the hill, the slopes of the park on which the red deer stood peacefully feeding, the low chain of blue hills in the distance, as if he were saying farewell to them—nor could he shake off this singular impression during the whole drive.