his lowlier subjects for those very supplies that insure his kingly pomp.  So, saucy girl, put not into young Cuthbert’s head notions that ill befit one who has naught to call his own save the clothes upon his back.  If he goes to these kinsfolk, as I believe it will be well for him to do, it will behove him to go right humbly and reverently.  Remember this in talking with him.  It were an ill thing to do to teach him to despise the home where his mother first saw light, and the kinsfolks who are called by her name.”

Kate’s sound sense and good feeling showed her the truth of her father’s words, and she dutifully promised not to transgress; but she did not altogether relish the thought of the prospect in store for her cousin, and as she went upstairs with Bessie to the comfortable bed chamber they shared together, she whispered, with a mischievous light dancing in her eyes: 

“Ah, it is one thing for the grave and reverend elders to plan, but it is another for the young to obey.  Methinks Cuthbert will need no hint from me to despise the home of the honest wool stapler.  He has been bred in woods and forests.  He has the blood of the Trevlyns in his veins.  I trow the shop on London Bridge will have small charms for him.  Were it me, I would sooner—­tenfold sooner—­join myself to one of those bands of freebooters who ravage the roads, and fatten upon sleek and well-fed travellers, than content myself with the pottering life of a trader!  Ah, we shall see, we shall see!  I will keep my word to my father.  But for all that I scarce think that when Cuthbert starts forth again it will be for London Bridge that he will be bound!”

Chapter 3:  The Lost Treasure.

“And so it is to London thou wilt go—­to the worthy wool stapler on the Bridge?” and Kate, mindful of her promise to her parents, strove to suppress the little grimace with which she was disposed to accompany her words—­“at least so my father saith.”

“Yes:  he has been giving me good counsel, and methinks that were a good beginning.  I would gladly see London.  Men talk of its wonders, and I can but sit and gape.  I am aweary of the life of the forest—­the dreary life of the Gate House.  In London I shall see men—­books—­all the things my heart yearns after.  And my mother’s kindred will scarce deny me a home with them till I can find somewhat to do; albeit I barely know so much as their name, and my father has held no manner of communication with them these many years.”

“Perchance they will not receive thee,” suggested Kate, with a laughing look in her eyes.  “Then, good Cuthbert, thou wilt be forced to trust to thine own mother wit for a livelihood.  Then perchance thou wilt not despise my poor little letter to my good cousin Lord Culverhouse.”

“Despise aught of yours, sweet Kate!  Who has dared to say such a thing?” asked Cuthbert hotly.  “Any missive delivered to my keeping by your hands shall be doubly precious.  I will deliver it without fail, be it to mine own advancement or no.”