"You have painted the lights and shadows, Father," he said cheerily, "and I am prepared to take them together. I am sure I'll like the poor people. It won't be my fault."
Then my heart rose up to this bright, cheery, handsome fellow, who had no more pride in him than a barelegged gossoon; and who was prepared to find his pleasure amongst such untoward surroundings. But I didn't like to let myself out as yet. I had to keep up some show of dignity.
My education commenced next morning. He had served my mass, and said his own in my little oratory; and he came down to breakfast, clean, alert, happy. I asked him how he had slept.
"Right well," he said, "I never woke till I heard some far off bell in the morning."
"The six o'clock bell at the great house," I replied. "But where are you going?"
"Nowhere, Sir," said he, "I understood I was to remain over Sunday."
"But you're shaved?" said I.
"Oh yes," he said, with the faintest ripple of a smile. "I couldn't think of sitting down to breakfast, much less of celebrating the Holy Sacrifice, without shaving."
"And you have a clean collar. Do you mean to say you change your collar every morning?"
"Certainly, Sir," he said.