Little Dick Chester had never known a mother's love nor a father's care. His mother died when he was born. His father had been too much occupied with the King's business to attend to his family. Dick had been alternately petted and tyrannized over by servants. He was high-spirited, but had never been taught to control himself, and his want of training amongst gentle people had left him something of a savage. His cousin John had beaten him for his insolence, as he called it; and the rector of the parish had set him tasks to learn for his carelessness; but he had never had an example to go by. He feared his cousin, and hated learning in the person of the rector. He was proud--proud of his good birth, of his old castle, of his new title,--inclined to be overbearing, and, if roughly used, revengeful. Struggling out of the moat water, he dashed open the gate-house door, and with a torrent of angry words, dripping, gasping, choking, flung his small person into the room. "Upon my word!" said Giles the stableman. He was sitting at the table writing. "What do you mean? How do you dare?" Dick cried, tossing the drops from his hair. "Writing! Since when did beggars learn to spell?" He swept ink, pens, and paper off the table on to the floor. "Since young gentlemen ceased to learn manners," said Giles, and he frowned. "Pooh!" said Dick rudely, stamping on the fallen papers. "Go to, for a surly rogue and pretender. You cannot write your own name nor what you are--beggar." "I could write your name and what you are, nathless," said Giles, picking up his writing from the floor. Dick clutched at the paper to tear it away. "Fair and softly," said Giles, holding it far above his head. "Go and fetch your coat and shoes, your honour, and then we'll have a talk." He let down the bridge. Dick shook his head. "When I'm across you'll pull it up again and leave me." For answer Giles snapped his fingers, walked out across the bridge, picked up the coat and shoes, and came back. The bridge was pulled up, the portcullis lowered, and Giles came in to find Dick reading the superscription of the letter which he had taken from the floor. "'To His Majesty the King!'" He laughed at Giles. "You write to the King, Giles!" and he laughed again. "Sir," said Giles, "I was never thrashed for reading another man's letter, but I have the best will in the world to thrash you for it now. However, I'd do it did I not know you were ignorant of politeness, never having been taught it. Let it pass." Dick blushed, but said angrily: "You! Who are you? The stable-help?" Giles bowed. "Picked up by Captain Dent, who knows where, or how, three days ago."