"I tell you, father, I won't wear a smock; it is bad enough to have to be a shepherd; wear a smock I won't," cried Jack, his eyes flashing dangerously.
John Shelley began to understand now; it was pride which was at the bottom of it—pride sprung from all this book-knowledge, which he had always prophesied would lead to no good, and pride which must be trampled upon at once. John had never understood his eldest son, and he could no more enter into the feeling which prompted Jack to shrink from wearing this badge of his lowly calling than he could understand his objection to snaring wheatears.
"And I tell you, Jack, I will have no more of this folly. It all comes from the books you are always poring over instead of attending to your work."
"When have I ever neglected my work? Summer and winter alike, from five in the morning till sunset, am I following the sheep," interrupted Jack, passionately.
"Hush, Jack, dear, hush!" whispered Mrs. Shelley.
"Remember you are speaking to your father; and now no more of this. I order you to put on that smock at once, and sit down and get your supper in it."
"And I refuse ever to put it on," replied Jack.
The shepherd advanced a step towards the angry lad; but Fairy, trembling for the consequences, caught hold of John's arm and held him back, while Mrs. Shelley stood between her husband and Jack, who was shaking with suppressed passion.
"Do you mean you refuse to obey me?" asked the shepherd.
"Yes, in this I do," answered Jack, fiercely.