"You are Tom Lynch, and your grandfather was a king----"

"No more," interposed Mr. Stewart, frowning and lifting his finger. "That
folly is dead and in its grave. Not even so fair a youth as you must give
it resurrection."

"Here, Bob," said the Major, with sudden alacrity. "Go outside with these
children, and help them to some games."




Chapter III.

Master Philip Makes His Bow--And Behaves Badly.



My protector and chief friend was at this time, as near as may be, fifty
years of age; yet he bore these years so sturdily that, if one should see
him side by side with his gossip and neighbor, Sir William Johnson, there
would be great doubt which was the elder--and the Baronet was not above
forty-two. Mr. Stewart was not tall, and seemed of somewhat slight frame,
yet he had not only grace of movement, but prodigious strength of wrist
and shoulders. For walking he was not much, but he rode like a knight. He
was of strictest neatness and method concerning his clothes; not so much,
let me explain, as to their original texture, for they were always plain,
ordinary garments, but regarding their cleanliness and order. He had a
swift and ready temper, and could not brook to be disputed by his equals,
much less by his inferiors, yet had a most perfect and winning politeness