He, himself, was comfortably
settled in the only place which would ever be home to him,--his son, the
idol of his heart, was with Ethel, his darling. The objects of his
tenderest affection were gay, happy, together, and, best of all, thinking
of him. That he was not with them gave him no regrets; his love was too
great for that. That their youth was soon to give place to the soberer
experiences of life, gave him no pang of fear for them. Reading their
letters, the Colonel was filled with quiet contentment; their future he
could trust to the care of that Guiding Hand to whom he had entrusted his
boy in childhood's earliest days.
ARTHUR PENDENNIS
[Illustration: ARTHUR PENDENNIS AT FAIR-OAKS.]
Early in the Regency of George the Magnificent there lived in a small
town in the west of England, called Clavering, a gentleman whose name was
Pendennis. At an earlier date Mr. Pendennis had exercised the profession
of apothecary and surgeon, and had even condescended to sell a plaster
across the counter of his humble shop, or to vend tooth-brushes,
hair-powder, and London perfumery. And yet that little apothecary was a
gentleman with good education, and of as old a family as any in the
county of Somerset. He had a Cornish pedigree which carried the
Pendennises back to the time of the Druids.
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