He said to my father, “The boy favours thy people.” Then he added, patting my head, “When thou art a man, my lad, thou shouldst go and see where thy people came from in Wales. I have been at Wyncote. It is a great house, with wings in the Italian manner, and a fine fountain in the court, and gates which were gilded when Charles II came to see the squire, and which are not to be set open again until another king comes thither.”
Then I knew this was the picture upstairs, and much pleased I said eagerly:
“My father has it in his bedroom, and our arms below it, all painted most beautiful.”
“Thou art a clever lad,” said the young lieutenant-governor, “and I must have described it well. Let as have a look at it, Friend Wynne.”
But my mother, seeing that William Logan and Friend Pemberton were silent and grave, and that my father looked ill pleased, made haste to make excuse, because it was springtime and the annual house-cleaning was going on.
Mr. Penn cried out merrily, “I see that the elders are shocked at thee, Friend Wynne, because of these vanities of arms and pictures; but there is good heraldry on the tankard out of which I drank James Pemberton’s beer yesterday. Fie, fie, Friend James!” Then he bowed to my mother very courteously, and said to my father, “I hope I have not got thy boy into difficulties because I reminded him that he is come of gentles.”
“No, no,” said my mother.
“I know the arms, madam, and well too: quarterly, three eagles displayed in fesse, and—”
“Thou wilt pardon me, Friend Penn,” said my father, curtly. “These are the follies of a world which concerns not those of our society. The lad’s aunt has put enough of such nonsense into his head already.”
“Let it pass, then,” returned the young lieutenant-governor, with good humour; “but I hope, as I said, that I have made no trouble for this stout boy of thine.”