The question was put gravely, for, ever since he could walk or do anything, the boy had amused himself by putting free-and-easy questions to the suits of armour, or defying them to mortal combat. As he was true to ancient friendships, he had acquired the habit of giving the warriors an occasional nod or word of recognition long after he had ceased to play with them.
“Shades of my ancestors!” exclaimed Harry with sudden animation, gazing earnestly at the Crusader on his right, “the very thing! I’ll do it.”
That evening, after tea, he went to his father’s study.
“May I sit up in the dining-room to-night, father, till two in the morning?”
“Well, it will puzzle you to do that to-night, my son; but you may if you have a good reason.”
“My reason is that I have a problem—a very curious problem—to work out, and as I positively shan’t be able to sleep until I’ve done it, I may just as well sit up as not.”
“Do as you please, Harry; I shall probably be up till that hour myself—if not later—for unexpected calls on my time have prevented the preparation of a sermon about which I have had much anxious thought of late.”
“Indeed, father!” remarked the son, in a sympathetic tone, on observing that the Reverend Theophilus passed his hand somewhat wearily over his brow. “What may be your text?”
“‘Be gentle, showing meekness to all men,’” answered the worthy man, with an abstracted faraway look, as if he were wrestling in anticipation with the seventh head.
“Well, good-night, father, and please don’t think it necessary to come in upon me to see how I am getting on. I never can work out a difficult problem if there is a chance of interruption.”