“That’s right, my dear; always stick to those who are good to you.”

A few days after this, as James was sailing the toy boat, for Aggie’s amusement, in a pool, a boy sauntered up.  He was somewhat taller than James Walsham, and at least two years older.  He was well dressed, and James knew him as the nephew and heir of the squire.

It was not often that Richard Horton came down into the village.  He was accustomed to be treated with a good deal of deference at the Hall, and to order servants and grooms about pretty much as he chose, and the indifference with which the fisher boys regarded him offended him greatly.  He was a spoilt boy.  His uncle had a resident tutor for him, but the selection had been a bad one.  The library was large and good, the tutor fond of reading, and he was content to let the boy learn as little as he chose, providing that he did not trouble him.  As to any instruction beyond books, he never thought of giving it.

The squire never interfered.  He was a silent and disappointed man.  He attended to his duties as a magistrate, and to the management of his estate, but seldom went beyond the lodge gates.  He took his meals by himself, and often did not see his nephew for a week together, and had no idea but that he was pursuing his studies regularly with his tutor.  Thus, the character of Richard Horton formed itself unchecked.  At the best it was a bad one, but under other circumstances it might have been improved.

Up to the age of ten, he had lived in London with his father and mother, the latter a sister of the squire, who, having married beneath her, to the indignation of Mr. Linthorne, he had never seen her afterwards.

Four years before the story begins, she had received a letter from him, saying that, as her eldest son was now his heir, he wished him to come and live with him, and be prepared to take his place.  The Hortons, who had a numerous family, at once accepted the offer, and Richard, hearing that he was going to a grand house, and would no doubt have a pony and all sorts of nice things, left his father and mother without a tear.

He was essentially selfish.  He was vain of his good looks, which were certainly striking; and with his changed fortunes he became arrogant, and, as the squire’s servants said, hateful; and yet the change had brought him less pleasure than he expected.  It was true that he had the pony, that he was not obliged to trouble himself with lessons, that he was an important person at the “Hall;” but he had no playfellows, no one to admire his grandeur, and the days often passed heavily, and there was a look of discontent and peevishness upon his handsome face.

Perhaps the reason why he so seldom came down into Sidmouth, was not only because the fisher boys were not sufficiently impressed with his importance, but because they looked so much happier and more contented than he felt, in spite of his numerous advantages.  On this day he was in a particularly bad temper.  He had lamed his pony the day before, by riding it furiously over a bad road after it had cast a shoe.  The gardener had objected to his picking more than half a dozen peaches which had just come into perfection, and had threatened to appeal to the squire.