“Oh, Mr. Glen,” said the housekeeper, simpering, “I never command my equals—­I leave my betters to do that.  I wanted you just to look at this child.”

“Look at him—­vhy, vot’s the matter vith un’, Mrs. Paisley?  He’s generally a werry naughty boy; but he looks better tempered than usual to-day.”

“Why, who do you take him for?” said Mrs. Paisley, evidently delighted at the butler’s mistake.

“Vhy, for Master Godfrey—­is it not?  Hey—­vot—­vhy—­no—­it is—­and it isn’t.  Vot comical demonstration is this?”

“Well, I don’t wonder, Jacob, at your mistake—­it is, and it is not.  Had they been twins, they could not have been more alike.  Godfrey, to be sure, has a haughty uppish look, which this child has not.  But what do you think of our master now?”

“It must be his son.”

The good woman nodded.  “Such likenesses cannot come by accident.  It is a good thing that my poor dear mistress did not live to see this day—­and she so jealous of him—­it would have broken her heart.”

“Aye, you may vell say that, Mrs. Paisley.  And some men are cruel, deceitful, partic’lar them there frank sort of men, like the Kurnel.  They are so pleasant like, that people never thinks they can be as bad as other volk.  They have sich han hinnocent vay vith them.  I vonder maister vos not ashamed of his old servants seeing him bring home a child so like himself.”

“Well, my dear, and what is your name?” said Mrs. Paisley, addressing her wondering charge.

“Anthony Hurdlestone.”

“Do you hear that, Mrs. Paisley?”

“Anthony Hurdlestone!  Oh, shame, shame,” said the good woman.  “It would have been only decent, Mr. Glen, for the Colonel to have called him by some other name.  Who’s your father, my little man?”

“Squire Hurdlestone.”

“Humph!” responded the interrogator.  “And your mother?”

“She’s in the churchyard.”

“How long has she been dead?”

“I don’t know; but Ruth does.  She died when I was a baby.”

“And who took care of you, my poor little fellow?” asked Mrs. Paisley, whose maternal feelings were greatly interested in the child.

“God, and Ruth Candler!  If it had not been for her, the folks said that I should have been starved long ago.”

“That has been the ’oman, doubtless, that the Kurnel left him with,” said the butler.  “Vell, my young squire, you’ll be in no danger of starvation in this house.  Your papa is rich enough to keep you.”

“He may be rich,” said Anthony; “but, for all that, the poorest man in the parish of Ashton is richer than he.”

“Come, come, my little gentleman, you are talking of what you know nothing about,” said Mrs. Paisley.  “I must now take you into the parlor, to see your papa and your little brother.”

“He’s not my papa,” said Anthony; “I wish he were.  Oh, if you could see my papa—­ha! ha!—­you would not forget him in a hurry; and if he chanced to box your ears, or pinch your cheek, or rap your head with his knuckles, you would not forget that in a hurry.”