"Hush, Tusher--you are always bickering with Father Holt," cried my
lady. "Come and kiss my hand, child;" and the oak held out a BRANCH to
little Harry Esmond, who took and dutifully kissed the lean old hand,
upon the gnarled knuckles of which there glittered a hundred rings.

"To kiss that hand would make many a pretty fellow happy!" cried Mrs.
Tusher: on which my lady crying out, "Go, you foolish Tusher!" and
tapping her with her great fan, Tusher ran forward to seize her hand
and kiss it. Fury arose and barked furiously at Tusher; and Father Holt
looked on at this queer scene, with arch, grave glances.

The awe exhibited by the little boy perhaps pleased the lady to whom
this artless flattery was bestowed: for having gone down on his knee (as
Father Holt had directed him, and the mode then was) and performed his
obeisance, she said, "Page Esmond, my groom of the chamber will inform
you what your duties are, when you wait upon my lord and me; and good
Father Holt will instruct you as becomes a gentleman of our name. You
will pay him obedience in everything, and I pray you may grow to be as
learned and as good as your tutor."

The lady seemed to have the greatest reverence for Mr. Holt, and to be
more afraid of him than of anything else in the world. If she was ever
so angry, a word or look from Father Holt made her calm: indeed he had
a vast power of subjecting those who came near him; and, among the rest,
his new pupil gave himself up with an entire confidence and attachment
to the good Father, and became his willing slave almost from the first
moment he saw him.

He put his small hand into the Father's as he walked away from his first