“What do you mean, Anthony and why do you call Mr. Hurdlestone the Squire, instead of papa?”

“He never tells me to call him papa; he never calls me his son, or ‘little boy,’ or even ‘Anthony,’ or speaks to me as other fathers speak to their children.  He calls me chit and brat, and rude noisy fellow; and it’s ’Get out of my way, you little wretch!  Don’t come here to annoy me.’  And how can I call him father or papa, when he treats me as if I did not belong to him?”

“My dear child, I much fear that you do not love your father.”

“How can I, when he does not love me?  If he would be kind to me, I would love him very much; for I have nothing in the world to love but old Shock, and he’s half-starved.  But he does love me, and I give him all I can spare from my meals, and that’s little enough.  I often wish for more, for poor Shock’s sake; for they say that he was mamma’s dog, and Ruth Candler told me that when mamma died, he used to go every day for months and lie upon her grave.  Now was not that kind of Shock?  I wish papa loved me only half as well as old Shock loved my mother, and I would not mind being starved, and going about the streets without shoes.”

Thus the child, prattled on, revealing to his new companion the secrets of the prison-house.  Had he looked up at that moment into his uncle’s face, he would have seen the tear upon his cheeks.  He pressed the poor child silently against him as they rode on.

“We will take Shock with us, Anthony, and he shall have plenty to eat as well as you.”

“Oh, dear uncle, how we shall love you, both Shock and I!”

“But tell me, Anthony, has your father really left the Hall?”

“Long, long ago; as far back as I can remember.  It is the first thing I can remember, since I awoke in this world and found myself alive, the removing to old Pike’s cottage.  The Squire said that he was too poor to live at the Hall, and there was plenty of room in the gardener’s cottage for us three, and there we have lived ever since.  See, uncle, we are now coming to it.”

Algernon looked up and saw that they had entered a long avenue of lofty trees, which he recognised as a back way to the extensive gardens, at the extremity of which, and near the garden gate, stood a small cottage, once neat and comfortable, but now fast falling to decay.  He had often played there with his brother and Grenard Pike in their childhood.  The plastered walls of the tenement in many places had given way, and the broken windows were filled with pieces of board, which, if they kept out the wind and rain, dismally diminished the small portion of light which found its way through the dusty panes.

Fastening his horse to the moss-grown paling, Algernon proceeded to knock at the door.

“Who’s there?” growled a deep voice from within.

“A gentleman wishes to speak to Mr. Hurdlestone.”

“He’s not at home to strangers,” responded the former growl, without unclosing the door.