One thing he had yet to subdue--his temper; like that of most
people of excitable temperament it would some times flash forth
like fire; his companions soon found this out, and the elder pages
liked to amuse themselves in arousing it--a sport not quite so safe
for those of his own age.

Altogether of a different mould was the bright joyous son of an
ill-fated father; Hubert, son of Roger of Icklesham and Walderne. A
boy, a typical boy, a brave free-hearted noble one:

With his unchecked, unbidden joy,
His dread of books, and love of fun.

He was rapidly acquiring ease and dexterity in all the sports of
the tilt yard; the quintain had now no terrors for him, and he was
quite at home on horseback already. Naturally he was rising fast in
favour with his fellows, the only lad who seemed to stand aloof
from him being Drogo de Harengod.

Drogo was about a year older than Hubert, tall and dark, of a
haughty and intolerant disposition, and very "masterful," but, as
the old saw says:

Mores puerorum se detegunt inter ludendum.

So we will draw no more pen and ink sketches, but leave our
characters to show themselves by their deeds.

It was a pleasant evening in early autumn, and the scene was the
park of Kenilworth, some few months after the arrival of our two