Sir Charles was told of the accident, and was distressed by it, and
also by the cause.
"Rolfe," said he, sorrowfully, "there is a ring-dove's nest on that
tree: she and hers have built there in peace and safety for a hundred
years, and cooed about the place. My unhappy boy was climbing the tree
to take the young, after solemnly promising me he never would: that is
the bitter truth. What shall I do with the young barbarian?"
He sighed, and Lady Bassett echoed the sigh.
Said Rolfe, "The young barbarian, as you call him, has disarmed me: he
plays the fiddle like a civilized angel."
"Oh, Mr. Rolfe!"
"What, you his mother, and not found that out yet? Oh yes, he has a
heaven-born genius for music."
Rolfe then related the musical feats of the urchin.
Sir Charles begged to observe that this talent would go a very little
way toward fitting him to succeed his father and keep up the credit of
an ancient family.
"Dear Charles, Mr. Rolfe knows that; but it is like him to make the
best of things, to encourage us. But what do you think of him, on the
whole, Mr. Rolfe? has Sir Charles more to hope or to fear?"
"Give me another day or two to study him," said Rolfe.
That night there was a loud alarm. Mr. Bassett was running about the
veranda in his night-dress.
Pages:
406
407
408
409
410
411
412
413
414
415
416
417
418
419
420
421
422
423
424
425
426
427
428
429
430