"How long has she been dead?"
"I don't know; but Ruth does. She died when I was a baby."
"And who took care of you, my poor little fellow?" asked Mrs. Paisley, whose maternal feelings were greatly interested in the child.
"God, and Ruth Candler! If it had not been for her, the folks said that I should have been starved long ago."
"That has been the 'oman, doubtless, that the Kurnel left him with," said the butler. "Vell, my young squire, you'll be in no danger of starvation in this house. Your papa is rich enough to keep you."
"He may be rich," said Anthony; "but, for all that, the poorest man in the parish of Ashton is richer than he."
"Come, come, my little gentleman, you are talking of what you know nothing about," said Mrs. Paisley. "I must now take you into the parlor, to see your papa and your little brother."
"He's not my papa," said Anthony; "I wish he were. Oh, if you could see my papa—ha! ha!—you would not forget him in a hurry; and if he chanced to box your ears, or pinch your cheek, or rap your head with his knuckles, you would not forget that in a hurry."
"You have got a new papa, now; so you may forget the old one. Now, hold your head up like a man, and follow me."
Colonel Hurdlestone was lounging over his wine; his little son was sitting over against him, imitating his air and manner, and playing with, rather than drinking from, the full glass of port before him.