“Philip, my dear,” says my aunt, “thy grandfather’s slippers,” or, “Philip, my love, thy grandfather’s hat and cane.”  But it is plain that Master Philip has not been brought up to wait on his elders.  He is curled with a novel in his grandfather’s easy chair by the window.  “There is Dio, mamma, who has naught to do but serve grandpapa,” says he, and gives a pull at the cord over his head which rings the bell about the servants’ ears in the hall below.  And Dio, the whites of his eyes showing, comes running into the room.

“It is nothing, Diomedes,” says Mr. Carvel.  “Master Philip will fetch what I need.”.  Master Philip’s papa and mamma stare at each other in a surprise mingled with no little alarm, Master Philip being to all appearances intent upon his book.

“Philip,” says my grandfather, gently.  I had more than once heard him speak thus, and well knew what was coming.

“Sir,” replies my cousin, without looking up.  “Follow me, sir,” said Mr. Carvel, in a voice so different that Philip drops his book.  They went up the stairs together, and what occurred there I leave to the imagination.  But when next Philip was bidden to do an errand for Mr. Carvel my grandfather said quietly:  “I prefer that Richard should go, Caroline.”  And though my aunt and uncle, much mortified, begged him to give Philip another chance, he would never permit it.

Nevertheless, a great effort was made to restore Philip to his grandfather’s good graces.  At breakfast one morning, after my aunt had poured Mr. Carvel’s tea and made her customary compliment to the blue and gold breakfast china, my Uncle Grafton spoke up.

“Now that Dr. Hilliard is gone, father, what do you purpose concerning Richard’s schooling?”

“He shall go to King William’s school in the autumn,” Mr. Carvel replied.

“In the autumn!” cried my uncle.  “I do not give Philip even the short holiday of this visit.  He has his Greek and his Virgil every day.”

“And can repeat the best passages,” my aunt chimes in.  “Philip, my dear, recite that one your father so delights in.”

However unwilling Master Philip had been to disturb himself for errands, he was nothing loth to show his knowledge, and recited glibly enough several lines of his Virgil verbatim; thereby pleasing his fond parents greatly and my grandfather not a little.

“I will add a crown to your savings, Philip,” says his father.

“And here is a pistole to spend as you will,” says Mr. Carvel, tossing him the piece.

“Nay, father, I do not encourage the lad to be a spendthrift,” says Grafton, taking the pistole himself.  “I will place this token of your appreciation in his strong-box.  You know we have a prodigal strain in the family, sir.”  And my uncle looks at me significantly.

“Let it be as I say, Grafton,” persists Mr. Carvel, who liked not to be balked in any matter, and was not over-pleased at this reference to my father.  And he gave Philip forthwith another pistole, telling his father to add the first to his saving if he would.