“Did you ever hear me speak of a man named Robert Ellerton?” asked the old man, looking sharply at his nephew.
“No, sir, but I’ve seen you look mighty cross if any one else happened to speak his name in your presence,” was the curt reply.
“You perhaps know that he has a son by the same name?” was the next query.
“Yes, sir, I’ve met him, and he’s a tip-top fellow, for a youngster, and smart as chain lightning!”
The squire’s face was black as night at this stream of praise, which, coming from such a source, annoyed him exceedingly.
“Spare your praises,” he said sarcastically; “perhaps you won’t laud him so highly when you hear what I have to tell you.”
“Well, out with it, uncle. What has the boy done? Thrown a stone and broken one of your treasured nymphs out yonder?”
And Ralph motioned toward the grounds, which could be seen from the deep bay-window near which they sat.
“Cease your nonsense, boy, and listen, for I have a story to tell you,” replied Squire Moulton, angrily.
He paused a few moments, while an expression of pain swept over his hard face. At length, with an effort, he began; while Ralph listened, wonderingly.