"Very likely," said my father; "but knowledge and freedom are the best devices in the world, to print upon pats of butter intended for the market."
"Pats of butter! I don't understand," said Uncle Jack.
"The less you understand, the better the butter will sell, Jack," said my father, settling back to his notes.
CHAPTER XVI.
Uncle Jack had made up his mind to lodge with us, and my mother found some difficulty in inducing him to comprehend that there was no bed to spare.
"That's unlucky," said he. "I was no sooner arrived in town than I was pestered with invitations; but I refused them all, and kept myself for you."
"So kind in you! so like you!" said my mother; "but you see—"
"Well, then, I must be off and find a room; don't fret, you know I can breakfast and dine with you, all the same; that is, when my other friends will let me. I shall be dreadfully persecuted." So saying, Uncle Jack re-pocketed his prospectus, and wished us good-night.
The clock had struck eleven; my mother had retired; when my father looked up from his books, and returned his spectacles to their case. I had finished my work, and was seated over the fire, thinking now of Fanny Trevanion's hazel eyes—now, with a heart that beat as high at the thought, of campaigns, battle-fields, laurels, and glory; while, with his arms folded on his breast and his head drooping, Uncle Roland gazed into the low clear embers. My father cast his eyes round the room, and after surveying his brother for some moments, he said almost in a whisper—
"My son has seen the Trevanions. They remember us, Roland."