at do
you mean by horrible?"

"This guttural chattering of the people. Why, you can hardly hear an
English word spoken. It's all double Dutch, till I feel as if my teeth
were set on edge."

"Nonsense! Good chance to learn German."

"I'd rather learn Hottentot. Look too what a lot of fat, muffin-faced
women there are, and stupid, smoky, sour-kraut-eating men. To my mind
there are only two people worth looking at, and they are your father and
mother."

Frank, who had felt irritated at his companion's persistent carping,
began to glow, for he felt that his companion's words were genuine.

"Yes, they do look well, don't they?"

"Splendid. I do like your mother, Frank."

"Well, she likes you."

"H'm. I don't know," said the lad dubiously.

"But I do," said Frank quickly. "She told me so only this afternoon."

"What! Here, tell me what she said."

"That she knew your mother so well, and that it was sad about her dying
so young, and that she felt, as I took it, something the same toward you
as she did toward me."

"Did--did she talk like that, Frank?" said Andrew, with his lower lip
quivering a little.

"Yes; and told me she hoped I should always be a good friend to you, and
keep you out of mischief."

"Stuff!" cried Andrew. "I'm sure she did not say that."

"She did," said Frank warmly. "Not in those words, perhaps; but that
was what she meant."

Andrew laughed derisively.

"Why, I'm a couple of years nearly older than you."

"So she said; but she spoke as if she thought that I could influence
you."

"Bless her!" said Andrew warmly. "I feel as proud of her as you do,
Frank, only I'm sorry for her to be here amongst all these miserable
German people. Look, there's that stuck-up, conceited Baron
Brokenstone, or whatever his name is. A common German adventurer,
that's what he is; and yet he's received here at court."

"Well, he's one of the King's Hanoverian generals."

"I should like to meet him under one of our generals," said Andrew. "I
consider it an insult for a fellow like that to be speaking to your
mother--our mother, Frank, if she talks about me like that. I hate him,
and feel as if I should like to go and hit him across the face with my
glove."

"What for? Oh, I say, Drew, what a hot-headed fellow you are."

"It isn't my head, Franky; it's my heart. It seems to burn when I see
these insolent Dutch officers lording it here, and smiling in their
half-contemptuous, half-in