"Yes, sir," said Roy, aloud; and then to himself, "Oh, what an awful fib." Then he wrinkled up his brows dismally, and began to think of old Ben polishing the armour and swords; but the next moment his face smoothed out stiffly, and he grew red in his efforts to keep from laughing aloud, for Master Pawson commenced jerking and snatching from the strings a remarkable series of notes, which followed one another in a jigging kind of fairly rapid sequence, running up and down the gamut and in and out, as if the notes of the composer had suddenly become animated, and, like some kind of tiny, big-headed, long-tailed goblins, were chasing one another in and out of the five lines of the stave, leaping from bar to bar, never stopping for a rest, making fun of the flats and sharps, and finally pausing, breathless and tired, as the player now finally laid down the bow, took out a fine laced handkerchief, and began to wipe his fingers and mop his brow. "There," he said, smiling; "you like that bright, sparkling composition better?" "No," said Roy, decisively; "no, I don't think I do." "I am glad of it; very glad of it. I was afraid that you preferred the light and trivial coranto to the graceful saraband." "But, I say. Master Pawson, the Italians surely don't dance to such music as that?" "I have never been in Italy, my dear pupil, but I believe they do. Going?" Roy had risen from his chair. "Yes, sir; I thought, as you were practising, you would not want me to stop and read to-day, and you are writing a letter, too." "Letter?" said the secretary, hurriedly reaching towards an open sheet upon the table and turning it over with the point of his bow. "Oh, that? Yes, some notes--some notes. Well, it is a fine day, and exercise is good, and perhaps I shall run through a few more compositions. So you can go, and we will study a little in the evening, for we must not neglect our work, Roy, my dear pupil; we must not neglect our work." "No, sir. Thank you, sir," said the boy; and, for fear of a change of decision, he hurried from the room and made his way out upon the old ramparts, to begin walking leisurely round the enclosed garden, and looking outward from the eminence upon which the castle was built across the moat at the foot, and away over the sunny forest towards the village and little church, whose spire rose about two miles away. "I wish he wouldn't always call me `my dear pupil,' and smile at me as if he looked down from ever so high up. I don't know how it is, but I always feel as if I don't like him. I suppose it's because he's so plump and smooth.