mischievous cast in the mould of the face, though individually the features were not amiss except for their thinness, and in fact the unpleasantness of the expression had insensibly been softened during this last month, and there was nothing repellent, though much that was quaint, in the slight figure, with the indescribably one-sided air, and stature more befitting ten than fourteen years.  What would the visitor think of him?  The Doctor called to him, “Come, Peregrine, your uncle, Sir Peregrine Oakshott, has been good enough to come over to see you.”

Peregrine had been well trained enough in that bitter school of home to make a correct bow, though his feelings were betrayed by his yellow eye going almost out of sight.

“My namesake—­your father will not let me say my godson,” said Sir Peregrine smiling.  “We ought to be good friends.”

The boy looked up.  Perhaps he had never been greeted in so human a manner before, and there was something confiding in the way those bony fingers of his rested a moment in his uncle’s clasp.

“And this is your little daughter, madam, Peregrine’s kind playmate?  You may well be proud of her valour,” said the knight, while Anne made her courtesy, which he, in the custom of the day, returned with a kiss; and she, who had been mortally ashamed of her terror, marvelled at his praise.

The pair of fowls were by this time on the table, and good manners required silence on the part of the children, but while Sir Peregrine explained that he had been appointed by his Majesty as Envoy to the Elector of Brandenburg, and gave various interesting particulars of foreign life, Mrs. Woodford saw that he was keeping a quiet watch over his nephew’s habits at table, and she was thankful that when unmoved by any wayward spirit of mischief they were quite beyond reproach.  Something of the refinement of his poor mother’s tastes must have been inherited by Peregrine, for a certain daintiness of taste and habit had probably added to his discomforts in the austere, not to say rude simplicity imposed upon the children of the family.

When the meal was over the children were dismissed to the garden, but bidden to keep within call, in case Sir Peregrine should wish to see his nephew again.  The others repaired again to the garden seat, with wine and fruit, but the knight begged Mrs. Woodford not to leave them.

“I am satisfied,” he said.  “The boy shows gentle blood and breeding.  There was cause enough for fright without cowardice, and there is not, what I was led to fear, such uncouthness or ungainliness as should hinder me from having him with me.”

“Oh, sir, is that your purpose?” cried the lady, almost as eagerly as if it had been high preferment for her own child.

“I had thought thereon,” said the envoy.  “There is reason that he should be my charge, and my brother is like to give a ready consent, since he is sorely perplexed what to do with this poor untoward slip.”