This, then, was Peregrine’s introduction to that society wherein later he was to wear the cap and bells as no mere pastime but in very truth. Nor was it at this time his last appearance therein. For the first few years of his life he played, in a manner, the rôle of zany to his father, gaining thereby much favour. Candour, a virtue allowed both children and fools, was a marked characteristic of Peregrine’s. If at moments the recipients of his frank speeches felt a trifle of embarrassment there was always the knowledge that their own blush or wince would presently be superseded by a laugh at the blush or wince of another. This squared all accounts, made the momentary embarrassment worth enduring. Yet what may well pass as the artlessness of a child, the privilege of a fool, is of other brand from the boy. With the loss of his milk teeth—and he was full late in parting with them—Peregrine’s candour began to lose its charm. Outspoken speeches when issuing from between cherry lips and pearls are of different ilk when the pearls are lacking. Herein we see the injustice of the world. The day came when an outspoken speech of Peregrine’s, exceeding apt, perchance of over-candour,—though assuredly a year ago it would have gained him high applause,—was taken in ill part. True, there were some who tittered, yet surreptitiously, feeling the atmosphere somewhat charged with unfriendly omen, an omen none could overlook, seeing that it emanated from the guest of note who sat frowning at the insouciant Peregrine. Had the guest been of less importance it is possible the affair might have been settled by a slight rebuke, but with her rank and dignity in view no such flimsy method was of avail. Peregrine was dismissed the hall wherein he had been a petted favourite since his first breeching; and, before being deprived of cap and bells, was breeched—and soundly—after other fashion, the distinguished guest having made it evident that the smart of her wounded feelings could only be eased by the smarting of Peregrine’s small body. Sore and sobbing he sought his mother, wept out his woes, his perplexities, his hot face buried in her lap. Thus with pain of body, though with but dim realization of mind, Peregrine first became acquainted with the injustice of the world. For a time Peregrine saw the hall no more. Clad after the ordinary manner of his kind he kept out of the way of the noblesse, the gentry, ill at ease when he by chance crossed their path, found what human companionship he would among the servitors alone,—excepting always that of his father and mother, in whose company he at all times found pleasure.