ord Eldershawe, whose seat was a few miles
from Wildairs Hall--"women like nincompoops and chaplains. Let us take
this one for our toast, and bring her up as girls should be brought up to
be companions for men. I give you, Mistress Clorinda Wildairs--Mistress
Clorinda, the enslaver of six years old--bumpers, lads!--bumpers!"

And they set her in the very midst of the big table and drank her health,
standing, bursting into a jovial, ribald song; and the child, excited by
the noise and laughter, actually broke forth and joined them in a high,
strong treble, the song being one she was quite familiar with, having
heard it often enough in the stable to have learned the words pat.

* * * * *

Two weeks after his meeting with her, Sir Jeoffry was seized with the
whim to go up to London and set her forth with finery. 'Twas but rarely
he went up to town, having neither money to waste, nor finding great
attraction in the more civilised quarters of the world. He brought her
back such clothes as for richness and odd, unsuitable fashion child never
wore before. There were brocades that stood alone with splendour of
fabric, there was rich lace, fine linen, ribbands, farthingales,
swansdown tippets, and little slippers with high red heels. He had a
wardrobe made for her such as the finest lady of fashion could scarcely
boast, and the tiny creature was decked out in it, and on great occasions
even strung with her dead mother's jewels.

Among these strange things, he had the fantastical notion to have made
for her several suits of boy's clothes: pink and blue satin coats, little
white, or amber, or blue satin breeches, ruffles of lace, and waistcoats
embroidered with colours and silver or gold. There was also a small
scarlet-coated hunting costume and all the paraphernalia of the chase. It
was Sir Jeoffry's finest joke to bid her woman dress her as a boy, and
then he would have her brought to the table where he and his fellows were
dining together, and she would toss off her little bumper with the best
of them, and rip out childish oaths, and sing them, to their delight,
songs she had learned from the stable-boys. She cared more for dogs and
horses than for finery, and when she was not in the humour to be made a
puppet of, neither tirewoman nor devil could put her into her brocades;
but she liked the excitement of the dining-room, and, as time went on,
would be dressed in her flowered petticoats in a passion of eagerness to