“Hoity-toity!  What’s the matter now?  Why, it’s Jasper!  Well, of all the freaks, to come knocking us up!  What’s the matter with the boy?  Jasper, what ails you?”

Incoherently I told my story, at first to Aunt Elizabeth alone, but presently, in answer to her call, Uncle Loveday came down to hear.  The pair stood silent and wondering.

They were not elaborately dressed.  Aunt Elizabeth, it is true, was smothered from head to foot in a gigantic Inverness cape, that might have been my uncle’s were it not obviously too large for that little man.  Her nightcap, on the other hand, was ostentatiously her own.  No other woman would have had strength of mind to wear such a head-dress.  Uncle Loveday’s costume was even more singular; for the first time I saw him without a single brass button, and for the first time I understood how much he owed to those decorations.  His first words were—­

“Jasper, I hope you are telling me the truth.  Your mother told me yesterday of some cock-and-bull story concerning the Anna Maria or some such vessel.  I hope this is not another such case.  I have told you often enough where little boys who tell falsehoods go to.”

My white face must have been voucher for my truth on this occasion; for Aunt Elizabeth cut him short with the single word “Breakfast,” and haled me into the little parlour whilst the pair went to dress.

As I waited, I heard the sound of the pony without, and presently Aunt Elizabeth returned in her ordinary costume to worry the small servant who laid breakfast.  Whether Uncle Loveday ever had that meal I do not know to this day, for whilst it was being prepared I saw him get into the little carriage and drive off towards Lantrig.  I was told that I could not go until I had eaten; and so with a sore heart, but no thought of disobedience, I turned to breakfast.

The meal had scarcely begun when the door opened and Master Thomas Loveday sauntered into the room.  Master Thomas Loveday, a youth of some eight summers, was, in default of a home of his own, quartered permanently upon my uncle, whose brother’s son he was.  His early days had been spent in India.  After, however, both father and mother had succumbed to the climate of Madras, he was sent home to England, and had taken root in Lizard Town.  Hitherto, his life had been one long lazy slumber.  Whenever we were sent, on his rare visits to Lantrig, to “play together,” as old age always rudely puts it, his invariable rule had been to go to sleep on the first convenient spot.  Consequently his presence embarrassed me not a little.  He was a handsome boy, with blue eyes, long lashes, fair hair, and a gentle habit of speech.  When I came to know him better, I learnt the quick wit and subtle power that lay beneath his laziness of manner; but at present the soul of Thomas Loveday slept.

He was certainly not wide awake when he entered the room.  With a sleepy nod at me, and no trace of surprise at my presence, he pursued his meal.  Occasionally, as Aunt Elizabeth put a fresh question, he would regard her with a long stare, but otherwise gave no sign of animation.  This finally so exasperated my aunt that she addressed him—­