“And who so fit as yourself, Mr. Allen?” returned my grandfather, relief plain in his voice.  “You have his Lordship’s friendship and confidence, and never has rector of St. Anne’s or of any other parish brought letters to his Excellency to compare with yours.  And so I crave your help in this time of need.”

Mr. Allen showed becoming hesitation.

“I fear you do me greater honour than I deserve, Mr. Carvel,” he answered, a strain of the pomp coming back, “though my gracious patron is disposed to think well of me, and I shall strive to hold his good opinion.  But I have duties of parish and glebe to attend, and Master Philip Carvel likewise in my charge.”

I held my breath for my grandfather’s reply.  The rector, however, had read him, and well knew that a show of reluctance would but inflame him the more.

“How now, sir?” he exclaimed.  “Surely, as you love the King, you will not refuse me in this strait.”

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.