You may well be proud of her valour," said the knight, while Anne
made her courtesy, which he, in the custom of the day, returned with
a kiss; and she, who had been mortally ashamed of her terror,
marvelled at his praise.

The pair of fowls were by this time on the table, and good manners
required silence on the part of the children, but while Sir
Peregrine explained that he had been appointed by his Majesty as
Envoy to the Elector of Brandenburg, and gave various interesting
particulars of foreign life, Mrs. Woodford saw that he was keeping a
quiet watch over his nephew's habits at table, and she was thankful
that when unmoved by any wayward spirit of mischief they were quite
beyond reproach. Something of the refinement of his poor mother's
tastes must have been inherited by Peregrine, for a certain
daintiness of taste and habit had probably added to his discomforts
in the austere, not to say rude simplicity imposed upon the children
of the family.

When the meal was over the children were dismissed to the garden,
but bidden to keep within call, in case Sir Peregrine should wish to
see his nephew again. The others repaired again to the garden seat,
with wine and fruit, but the knight begged Mrs. Woodford not to
leave them.

"I am satisfied," he said. "The boy shows gentle blood and
breeding. There was cause enough for fright without cowardice, and
there is not, what I was led to fear, such uncouthness or
ungainliness as should hinder me from having him with me."

"Oh, sir, is that your purpose?" cried the lady, almost as eagerly
as if it had been high preferment for her own child.

"I had thought thereon," said the envoy. "There is reason that he
should be my charge, and my brother is like to give a ready consent,
since he is sorely perplexed what to do with this poor untoward
slip."

"He would be less untoward were he happier," said Mrs. Woodford.
"Indeed, sir, I do not think you will repent it, if--" and she
paused.

"What would you say, madam?"

"If only all your honour's household are absolutely ignorant of all
these tales."

"That can well be, madam. I have only one body-servant with me,
this unlucky blackamoor, who speaks nothing save Dutch. I had
already thought of leaving my grooms here, and returning to London
by sea, and this could well be done, and would cut off all channels
of gossiping. The boy is, the chaplain tells me, quick-witted, and
a fair scholar for his years, and I can find