“Was it not, sir, a very wicked thing to cut off Mr. Prynne’s ears?”
Had it suddenly thundered the old knight could not have been more surprised; and, if a wasp had stung him in a tender place, he could not have been less pleased.
“Master Prynne! what do you know about Master Prynne, you foolish boy?”
“O, I know—I know very well! they cut off his ears because he didn’t like plays; and that was very cruel! What a shame it would be to cut off the ears of old Josh. Cross, that takes care of your hawks, because he didn’t like to hear Stephen play upon the fiddle!”
“Why, Arthur, what has come to you, boy? who has been teaching you this nonsense? If Master Prynne had lost his head, instead of his ears, it would be no more than he deserved, and I hope he may live to own it.”
At this rebuke the boy coloured, and hung his head; but added, as if pleading for his fault,—
“It was Master Noble said so; and you know, sir, you have told us all to mind what he says, for he is always in the right.”
Sir Oliver bade him hastily go play; and the boy, taking his little niece by the hand, they ran out of the bowling-green at one angle, while the good old knight, not a little discomposed by the incident, ascended slowly to the terrace. Here he found old Philip, the keeper of the buttery, seated at the far end, in the shade, in the calm enjoyment of a pipe. Instead of the wonted word of pleasant greeting, Sir Oliver told him, in a rough tone, to go and seek instantly for Master Noble, and send him thither.
While the kind old serving man went away with his message in no comfortable mood—for the young tutor was as great a favourite in kitchen as in hall—the old gentleman paced the terrace with a leisurely and thoughtful step; and made frequent stops and soliloquies on the strange and unexpected words and sentiments which he had just heard from the lips of his open and artless boy. While thus engaged, we will leave him for a few moments to place before our reader the state of the family at the time of which we write.