began to speak of that act of
Townshend's, passed but the year before, which afterwards proved the
King's folly and England's ruin.

"Principle!" exclaimed my fine clergyman at length, blowing a great
whiff among the white blossoms. "Oons! your Americans worship his
Majesty stamped upon a golden coin. And though he saved their tills
from plunder from the French, the miserly rogues are loth to pay for the
service."

I rose, and taking a guinea-piece from my pocket, held it up before him.

"They care this much for gold, sir, and less for his Majesty, who cares
nothing for them," I said. And walking to the well near by, I dropped
the piece carelessly into the clear water. He was beside me before it
left my hand, and Philip also, in time to see the yellow coin edging
this way and that toward the bottom. The rector turned to me with a
smile of cynical amusement playing over his features.

"Such a spirit has brought more than one brave fellow to Tyburn, Master
Carvel," he said. And then he added reflectively, "But if there were
more like you, we might well have cause for alarm."

Volume 2.

CHAPTER VIII. OVER THE WALL

Dorothy treated me ill enough that spring. Since the minx had tasted
power at Carvel Hall, there was no accounting for her. On returning to
town Dr. Courtenay had begged her mother to allow her at the assemblies,
a request which Mrs. Manners most sensibly refused. Mr. Marmaduke had
given his consent, I believe, for he was more impatient than Dolly for
the days when she would become the toast of the province. But the doctor
contrived to see her in spite of difficulties, and Will Fotheringay was
forever at her house, and half a dozen other lads. And many gentlemen of
fashion like the doctor called ostensibly to visit Mrs. Manners, but in
reality to see Miss Dorothy. And my lady knew it. She would be lingering
in the drawing-room in her best bib and tucker, or strolling in the
garden as Dr. Courtenay passed, and I got but scant attention indeed. I
was but an awkward lad, and an old playmate, with no novelty about me.

"Why, Richard," she would say to me as I rode or walked beside her, or
sat at dinner in Prince George Street, "I know every twist and turn of
your nature. There is nothing you could do to surprise me. And so, sir,
you are very tiresome."

"You once found me useful enough to fetch and carry, and amusing when I
walked the Oriole's bowsprit," I replied ruefully.

"Why don't you m