Mr. Allen rose and grasped him by the hand.

“Nay, sir,” said he, “and you put it thus, I cannot refuse you.”

The thought of it was too much.  I ran to my grandfather crying:  “Not Mr. Allen, sir, not Mr. Allen.  Any one else you please,—­Mr. Fairbrother even.”

The rector drew back haughtily.  “It is clear, Mr. Carvel,” he said, “that Richard has other preferences.”

“And be damned to them!” shouted my grandfather.  “Am I to be ruled by this headstrong boy?  He has beat Mr. Fairbrother, and shall have no skimmed-milk supervision if I can help it.”

And so it was settled that I should be tutored by the rector of St. Anne’s, and I took my seat beside my cousin Philip in his study the very next day.

CHAPTER VII

GRAFTON HAS HIS CHANCE

To add to my troubles my grandfather was shortly taken very ill with the first severe sickness he had ever in his life endured.  Dr. Leiden came and went sometimes thrice daily, and for a week he bore a look so grave as to frighten me.  Dr. Evarts arrived by horse from Philadelphia, and the two physicians held long conversations in the morning room, while I listened at the door and comprehended not a word of their talk save when they spoke of bleeding.  And after a very few consultations, as is often the way in their profession, they disagreed and quarrelled, and Dr. Evarts packed himself back to Philadelphia in high dudgeon.  Then Mr. Carvel began to mend.

There were many who came regularly to inquire of him, and each afternoon I would see the broad shoulders and genial face of Governor Sharpe in the gateway, completing his walk by way of Marlboro’ Street.  I loved and admired him, for he had been a soldier himself before he came out to us, and had known and esteemed my father.  His Excellency should surely have been knighted for his services in the French war.  Once he spied me at the window and shook his cane pleasantly, and in he walks to the room where I sat reading of the victories of Blenheim and Malplaquet, for chronicles of this sort I delighted in.

“Aha, Richard,” says he, taking up the book, “’tis plain whither your tastes lead you.  Marlboro was a great general, and as sorry a scoundrel as ever led troops to battle.  Truly,” says he, musing, “the Lord often makes queer choice in his instruments for good.”  And he lowered himself into the easy chair and crossed his legs, regarding me very comically.  “What’s this I hear of your joining the burghers and barristers, and trouncing poor Mr. Fairbrother and his flock, and crying ’Liberty forever!’ in the very ears of the law?” he asks.  “His Majesty will have need of such lads as you, I make no doubt, and should such proceedings come to his ears I would not give a pipe for your chances.”

I could not but laugh, confused as I was, at his Excellency’s rally.  And this I may say, that had it pleased Providence to give me dealing with such men of the King’s side as he, perchance my fortunes had been altered.