Page 148 - for-the-term-of-his-natural-life

tenderness, that the reproof fell harmless.
‘I remember you,’ said Sylvia, tossing her head; ‘but you
were nicer then than you are now. I don’t like you at all.’
‘You don’t remember me,’ said Frere, a little disconcerted,
and affecting to be intensely at his ease. ‘I am sure you don’t.
What is my name?’
‘Lieutenant Frere. You knocked down a prisoner who
picked up my ball. I don’t like you.’
‘You’re a forward young lady, upon my word!’ said Frere,
with a great laugh. ‘Ha! ha! so I did, begad, I recollect now.
What a memory you’ve got!’
‘He’s here now, isn’t he, papa?’ went on Sylvia, regardless
of interruption. ‘Rufus Dawes is his name, and he’s always
in trouble. Poor fellow, I’m sorry for him. Danny says he’s
queer in his mind.’
‘And who’s Danny?’ asked Frere, with another laugh.
‘The cook,’ replied Vickers. ‘An old man I took out of hos-
pital. Sylvia, you talk too much with the prisoners. I have
forbidden you once or twice before.’
‘But Danny is not a prisoner, papa—he’s a cook,’ says Syl-
via, nothing abashed, ‘and he’s a clever man. He told me all
about London, where the Lord Mayor rides in a glass coach,
and all the work is done by free men. He says you never hear
chains there. I should like to see London, papa!’
‘So would Mr. Danny, I have no doubt,’ said Frere.
‘No—he didn’t say that. But he wants to see his old
mother, he says. Fancy Danny’s mother! What an ugly old
woman she must be! He says he’ll see her in Heaven. Will
he, papa?’

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