I turned to my grandfather.

“You are my protector, sir,” I cried.  “And if it please you to tell me what I now stand accused of, I submit most dutifully to your chastisement.”

“Very fair words, indeed, nephew Richard,” said my uncle, “and I draw from them that you have yet to hear of your beating an honest schoolmaster without other provocation than that he was a loyal servant to the King, and wantonly injuring the children of his school.”  He drew from his pocket a copy of that Gazette Mr. Carvel held in his hand, and added ironically:  “Here, then, are news which will doubtless surprise you, sir.  And knowing you for a peaceful lad, never having entertained such heresies as those with which it pleases Mr. Green to credit you, I dare swear he has drawn on his imagination.”

I took the paper in amaze, not knowing why my grandfather, who had ever been so jealous of others taking me to task, should permit the rector and my uncle to chide me in his presence.  The account was in the main true enough, and made sad sport of Mr. Fairbrother.

“Have I not been caned for this, sir?” said I to my grandfather.

These words seemed to touch Mr. Carvel, and I saw a tear glisten in his eye as he answered: 

“You have, Richard, and stoutly.  But your uncle and Mr. Allen seem to think that your offence warrants more than a caning, and to deem that you have been actuated by bad principles rather than by boyish spirits.”  He paused to steady his voice, and I realized then for the first time how sacred he held allegiance to the King.  “Tell me, my lad,” said he, “tell me, as you love God and the truth, whether they are right.”

For the moment I shrank from speaking, perceiving what a sad blow to Mr. Carvel my words must be.  And then I spoke up boldly, catching the exulting sneer on my Uncle Grafton’s face and the note of triumph reflected in Mr. Allen’s.

“I have never deceived you, sir,” I said, “and will not now hide from you that I believe the colonies to have a just cause against his Majesty and Parliament.”  The words came ready to my lips:  “We are none the less Englishmen because we claim the rights of Englishmen, and, saving your presence, sir, are as loyal as those who do not.  And if these principles be bad,” I added to my uncle, “then should we think with shame upon the Magna Charta.”

My grandfather stood astonished at such a speech from me, whom he had thought a lad yet without a formed knowledge of public affairs.  But I was, in fact, supersaturated with that of which I spoke, and could have given my hearers many able Whig arguments to surprise them had the season befitted.  There was silence for a space after I had finished, and then Mr. Carvel sank right heavily upon the bench.

“A Carvel against the King!” was all he said.

Had I been alone with him I should have cast myself at his feet, for it hurt me sorely to see him so.  As it was, I held my head high.