ostentatiously
done but that Mr. Carvel and I marked it. And afterwards I made Scipio
give me the coin, replacing it with another, and flung it as far into the
river as ever I could throw.

As was but proper to show his sorrow at the death of the old chaplain he
had loved so much, Grafton came to the Hall drest entirely in black. He
would have had his lady and Philip, a lad near my own age, clad likewise
in sombre colours. But my Aunt Caroline would none of them, holding it
to be the right of her sex to dress as became its charms. Her silks and
laces went but ill with the low estate my uncle claimed for his purse,
and Master Philip's wardrobe was twice the size of mine. And the family
travelled in a coach as grand as Mr. Carvel's own, with panels wreathed
in flowers and a footman and outrider in livery, from which my aunt
descended like a duchess. She embraced my grandfather with much warmth,
and kissed me effusively on both cheeks.

"And this is dear Richard?" she cried. "Philip, come at once and greet
your cousin. He has not the look of the Carvels," she continued volubly,
"but more resembles his mother, as I recall her."

"Indeed, madam," my grandfather answered somewhat testily, "he has the
Carvel nose and mouth, though his chin is more pronounced. He has
Elizabeth's eyes."

But my aunt was a woman who flew from one subject to another, and she
had already ceased to think of me. She was in the hall. "The dear old
home?" she cries, though she had been in it but once before, regarding
lovingly each object as her eye rested upon it, nay, caressingly when she
came to the great punch-bowl and the carved mahogany dresser, and the
Peter Lely over the broad fireplace. "What memories they must bring to
your mind, my dear," she remarks to her husband. "'Tis cruel, as I once
said to dear papa, that we cannot always live under the old rafters we
loved so well as children." And the good lady brushes away a tear with
her embroidered pocket-napkin. Tears that will come in spite of us all.
But she brightens instantly and smiles at the line of servants drawn up
to welcome them. "This is Scipio, my son, who was with your grandfather
when your father was born, and before." Master Philip nods graciously in
response to Scipio's delighted bow. "And Harvey," my aunt rattles on.
"Have you any new mares to surprise us with this year, Harvey?" Harvey
not being as overcome with Mrs. Grafton's condescension as was proper,
she turns again to