love him, and should have loved him to the end but for one thing,
and that comes in its own place in my story. But even those who
loved young Jasper best couldn't help seeing he hadn't his father's
winning ways. And when he grew up to man's estate, he was as wild as
his father had been before him. But his wild ways were the ways that
make young men enemies, not friends, and out of all that came to the
house, for the hunting, or the shooting, or what not, I used to
think there wasn't one would have held out a hand to my young master
if he had been in want of it. And yet I loved him because I had
brought him up, and I never had a child of my own. I never wished to
be married, but I used to wish that little Jasper had been my own
child. I could have had an authority over him then that I hadn't as
his nurse, and perhaps it might have all turned out differently.

There were many tales about Sir Jasper, but I didn't think it was my
place to listen to them.

Only, when it's your own eyes, it's different, and I couldn't help
seeing how like young Robert, the under-gamekeeper, was to the
Family. He had their black, curly hair, and merry Irish eyes, and
he, if you please, had just Sir Jasper's winning ways.

Why he was taken on as gamekeeper no one could make out, for when he
first came up to the Hall to ask the master for a job, they tell me
he knew no more of gamekeeping than I do of Latin. Young Robert was
a steady chap, and used to read and write of an evening instead of
spending a jolly hour or two at the Dove and Branch, as most young
fellows do, and as, indeed, my young master did too often. And Sir
Jasper, he gave him books without end and good advice, and would
have him so often about him he set everybody's tongue wagging to a