“What!” cried the clergyman, “John Temple has run away?”
“Why not,” said Mr. Riddle. “One can't live between wind and water long. And Charlestown's—uncomfortable in summer.”
At that the clergyman cast one look at them—such a look as I shall never forget—and went into the house.
“Mamma,” said the boy, “where has father gone? Has he run away?”
“Yes. Don't bother me, Nick.”
“I don't believe it,” cried Nick, his high voice shaking. “I'd—I'd disown him.”
At that Mr. Riddle burst into a hearty laugh.
“Come, Nick,” said he, “it isn't so bad as that. Your father's for his Majesty, like the rest of us. He's merely gone over to fight for him.” And he looked at the lady and laughed again. But I liked the boy.
As for the lady, she curled her lip. “Mr. Riddle, don't be foolish,” she said. “If we are to play, send your horse to the stables.” Suddenly her eye lighted on me. “One more brat,” she sighed. “Nick, take him to the nursery, or the stable. And both of you keep out of my sight.”
Nick strode up to me.