“John still says he shall go back to school,” began Lady Whitney, to Featherston.
“Ay; to-morrow’s the day, isn’t it, John? Black Thursday, some of you boys call it.”
“I like school,” said John.
“Almost a pity, though,” continued Featherston, looking up and about him. “To be out at will all day in this soft air, under the blue skies and the sunbeams, might be of more benefit to you, Master John, than being cooped up in a close school-room.”
“You hear, John!” cried Lady Whitney. “I wish you would persuade him to take a longer rest at home, Mr. Featherston!”
Mr. Featherston stooped for his tumbler, which he had lodged on the smooth grass, and took another drink before replying. “If you and John would follow my advice, Lady Whitney, I’d give it.”
“Yes?” cried she, all eagerness.
“Take John somewhere for a fortnight, and let him go back to school at the end,” said the surgeon. “That would do him good.”
“Why, of course it would,” called out Sir John, who had been listening. “And I say it shall be done. John, my boy, you and your mother shall go to the seaside—to Aberystwith.”