“Oh, yes,” Mrs. Jerrold replied.  “We saw a good deal of him; he is very fine-looking, with such gentlemanly manners for a boy.  I should be glad if Grey would imitate him,” and she glanced at her son, on whose face a cloud instantly fell.

Miss McPherson saw it, and turning to him she asked: 

“How did you like Neil?  Boys are sometimes better judges of each other than older people.  Did you think him very nice?”

Remembering Miss McPherson’s love for the naked truth, Grey spoke out boldly.

“No, madam; at first I did not like him at all.  We had a fight!”

“A fight!” Miss McPherson repeated, in surprise, as did both Hannah and Lucy simultaneously, while Mrs. Jerrold interposed: 

“I think, Grey, I would not mention that, as it reflects no credit upon you.”

“But he insulted me first,” Grey replied, and Miss McPherson insisted: 

“Tell it, Grey, and do not omit anything, because I am his aunt.  Tell it exactly as it was.  I want the truth.”

Thus encouraged, Grey began:  “I know I did not do right, but he made me so angry.  It was the Fourth of July and we were at Melrose stopping at the George Inn, while Mr. McPherson’s family were at the Abbey Hotel close to the old ruin.  There were several Americans at our house, and because of that the proprietor hung out our national flag.  It was such a lovely morning, and when I went into the street and saw the Stars and Stripes waving in the English wind, I hurrahed with all my might and threw up my cap in the air.

“‘May I ask why you are making so much noise?’ somebody said close to me, and turning round I saw a lad about my own age, wearing a tall stove-pipe hat, for he was an Eton boy.

“His manner provoked me quite as much as his words, it was so overbearing, and picking up my cap, I said:  ’Why, it’s the Fourth of July, and that is the Star-spangled Banner!’

“‘Star-spangled fiddlestick!’ he retorted, tapping the ground with the tip of his boot.’  And so you are a Yankee?  I heard there was a lot of them here.’

“‘Yes, I’m a Yankee,’ I replied; ’a genuine down-easter and proud of it too, and who, are you?’

“’I?  Why, I am Neil McPherson, an Eton boy, and my father is the Hon. John McPherson, and my mother is Lady Jane McPherson,’ he replied, in a tone intended to annihilate me wholly.

“But I stood my ground, and said: 

“’Oh, you are Neil McPherson, are you? and your father is an honorable, and your mother a lady?  Well, I am Grey Jerrold, of Boston, and my father is an honorable, and my mother is a lady, too!”

“‘Now, reely, you make me larf,’ he cried.  ’Your father may be an honorable—­I believe you have such things—­but your mother is not a lady; there are no ladies in America—­born ladies, such as we have in the United Kingdom.  And pray what have you Yankees done, except to make money, that you should all be so infernally proud of your country and that rag?’ pointing to the flag.