“Such a spirit has brought more than one brave fellow to Tyburn, Master Carvel,” he said.  And then he added reflectively, “But if there were more like you, we might well have cause for alarm.”

RICHARD CARVEL

By Winston Churchill

Volume 2.

VIII.  Over the Wall
IX.  Under False Colours
X. The Red in the Carvel Blood
XI.  A Festival and a Parting
XII.  News from a Far Country

CHAPTER VIII

OVER THE WALL

Dorothy treated me ill enough that spring.  Since the minx had tasted power at Carvel Hall, there was no accounting for her.  On returning to town Dr. Courtenay had begged her mother to allow her at the assemblies, a request which Mrs. Manners most sensibly refused.  Mr. Marmaduke had given his consent, I believe, for he was more impatient than Dolly for the days when she would become the toast of the province.  But the doctor contrived to see her in spite of difficulties, and Will Fotheringay was forever at her house, and half a dozen other lads.  And many gentlemen of fashion like the doctor called ostensibly to visit Mrs. Manners, but in reality to see Miss Dorothy.  And my lady knew it.  She would be lingering in the drawing-room in her best bib and tucker, or strolling in the garden as Dr. Courtenay passed, and I got but scant attention indeed.  I was but an awkward lad, and an old playmate, with no novelty about me.

“Why, Richard,” she would say to me as I rode or walked beside her, or sat at dinner in Prince George Street, “I know every twist and turn of your nature.  There is nothing you could do to surprise me.  And so, sir, you are very tiresome.”

“You once found me useful enough to fetch and carry, and amusing when I walked the Oriole’s bowsprit,” I replied ruefully.

“Why don’t you make me jealous?” says she, stamping her foot.  “A score of pretty girls are languishing for a glimpse of you,—­Jennie and Bess Fotheringay, and Betty Tayloe, and Heaven knows how many others.  They are actually accusing me of keeping you trailing.  ‘La, girls!’ said I, ’if you will but rid me of him for a day, you shall have my lasting gratitude.’”

And she turned to the spinet and began a lively air.  But the taunt struck deeper than she had any notion of.  That spring arrived out from London on the Belle of the Wye a box of fine clothes my grandfather had commanded for me from his own tailor; and a word from a maid of fifteen did more to make me wear them than any amount of coaxing from Mr. Allen and my Uncle Grafton.  My uncle seemed in particular anxious that I should make a good appearance, and reminded me that I should dress as became the heir of the Carvel house.  I took counsel with Patty Swain, and then went to see Betty Tayloe, and the Fotheringay girls, and the Dulany girls, near the Governor’s.  And (fie upon me!) I was not ill-pleased with the brave appearance I made.  I would show my mistress how little I cared.  But the worst of it was, the baggage seemed to trouble less than I, and had the effrontery to tell me how happy she was I had come out of my shell, and broken loose from her apron-strings.