"Bleed it on a dockleaf - not your
sleeve, for pity's sake." I knew what the Lady Esclairmonde
would say.
'He didn't care. He was as happy as a gipsy with a stolen pony,
and the front part of his gold coat, all blood and grass stains,
looked like ancient sacrifices.
'Of course the People of the Hills laid the blame on me. The
Boy could do nothing wrong, in their eyes.
'"You are bringing him up to act and influence on folk in
housen, when you're ready to let him go," I said. "Now he's
begun to do it, why do you cry shame on me? That's no shame.
It's his nature drawing him to his kind.
'"But we don't want him to begin that way," the Lady
Esclairmonde said. "We intend a splendid fortune for him - not
your flitter-by-night, hedge-jumping, gipsy-work."
'"I don't blame you, Robin," says Sir Huon, "but I do think
you might look after the Boy more closely."
'"I've kept him away from Cold Iron these sixteen years ," I
said. "You know as well as I do, the first time he touches Cold
Iron he'll find his own fortune, in spite of everything you intend
for him. You owe me something for that."
'Sir Huon, having been a man, was going to allow me the right
of it, but the Lady Esclairmonde, being the Mother of all
Mothers, over-persuaded him.
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