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Updated: June 8, 2025
"And so it was Ambrose who went back, eh?" he said, stroking Dickie's round head as she sat on his knee. "Yes, father," said Pennie, very much out of breath with running and talking, "we were all frightened except Ambrose." "And why weren't you frightened, Ambrose?" "I was," murmured Ambrose. "And yet you went?" "Yes. Because of Dickie." "Then you were a brave boy."
When Dickie's mother put him in my charge for the summer she said: "Keep him out of as much mischief as you can." This seemed unnecessary, for, really, Dickie was a well-mannered, good-looking young fellow, with broad shoulders, a clear skin and a clean heart. I said as much. "Oh, you old bachelors!" laughed Dickie's mother, and sailed away to spend her second season of widowhood abroad.
"You hold your tongue," snapped Sylvester, "or you'll get what's comin' to you!" He jerked Dickie's single chair from against the wall, threw the clothing from it, and sat down, crossing his legs, and holding up at his son the long finger that had frightened Sheila. Dickie blinked at it. "You know what I was plannin' to do to you after last night?
They would have made him happy, but for one thing. All this was won at the expense of those whom he loved best the children who were his dear cousins and playfellows, the man, their father, who had moved heaven and earth to establish Dickie's claim to the title, and had been content quietly to stand aside and give up title, castle, lands, and treasure to the little cripple from Deptford.
During Richard's minority it had been let for a term of years to Sir Reginald Aldham, of Aldham Revel in Midlandshire. Since Dickie's coming of age it had stood empty, pending a migration of the Brockhurst establishment, which migration had, in point of fact, never yet taken place.
He'll take the life out of them. I know it. And make them seem like things read of merely in a learned book. Be very charming to me, Richard. Waste half an hour upon me. Show me those moving relics yourself." As she spoke, momentary suspicion rose in Dickie's eyes.
Dickie's wide eyes, that watched the city and found it horrible and beautiful and frightening, were entirely empty of bitterness and of self-pity. They had a sort of wistful patience. There came at last a cool little wind and under its ministration Dickie let fall his head on his arms and slept.
"Like Wandering Hares at the theatre," said the landlord, who had been told by Dickie's aunt that the "ungrateful little warmint" had run away. "I see." "And 'e's a jolly little chap," said Beale, warming to his subject and forgetting his caution, "as knowing as a dog-ferret; and his patter enough to make a cat laugh, 'e is sometimes.
And so the little boy concluded that he did not care much about little girls; and confided to his devoted play-fellow Clara Mrs. Denny's niece and sometime second still-room maid, now promoted, on account of her many engaging qualities, to be Dickie's special attendant that:
It was Dickie's dumbness, as he leaned against the door, looking at her, that sobered her at last. She came close to him again and saw that he was shivering and that streams of water were running from his clothes to the floor. "Why, Dickie! How wet you are!" Again she put her hands on his arms he was indeed drenched. She looked up into his face. It was gray and drawn in the uncertain light.
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