as the boy was to tell. "And, Richard," said he at last, "have you
nought to tell me of Father Lucas, and his great book? What, not a
word? Look up, Richard, and tell me how it goes with the learning."
{3}

"Oh, father!" said Richard, in a low voice, playing with the clasp of
his father's belt, and looking down, "I don't like those crabbed
letters on the old yellow parchment."

"But you try to learn them, I hope!" said the Duke.

"Yes, father, I do, but they are very hard, and the words are so
long, and Father Lucas will always come when the sun is so bright,
and the wood so green, that I know not how to bear to be kept poring
over those black hooks and strokes."

"Poor little fellow," said Duke William, smiling and Richard, rather
encouraged, went on more boldly. "You do not know this reading,
noble father?"

"To my sorrow, no," said the Duke.

"And Sir Eric cannot read, nor Osmond, nor any one, and why must I
read, and cramp my fingers with writing, just as if I was a clerk,
instead of a young Duke?" Richard looked up in his father's face,
and then hung his head, as if half-ashamed of questioning his will,
but the Duke answered him without displeasure.

"It is hard, no doubt, my boy, to you now, but it will be the better
for you in the end. I would give much to be able myself to read