"Good Christ, you're in that much trouble again? I surely hope not\ Oh, play-ing, you mean, ha ha. And here's Sewallis. Come here, my boy. How was your day? Been keeping your brother out of scrapes?"

"Yes, father." Sewallis replied with his usual reserve. He cast a wary look over his shoulder in Pitt's direction to determine how safe movement might be, then dashed with unwonted haste as Lewrie held out his arms. The boy came to him dutifully for a more sedate welcome-home hug, and a kiss on the forehead.

"Good to be home," Alan told them both. "Cold as the Devil out tonight."

"Wa' yoo bwing me, daddy?" Hugh coaxed in an almost unintelligible voice. He was only three, and still having trouble pronouncing his "R's," so much so that even a doting daddy, who should have been familiar enough with baby talk, had difficulty understanding him. The boy's eyes gleamed, sly with expectation, clinging to Lewrie's knees, his tiny fingers beginning to probe all the pockets he could reach.

Thievery, Lewrie thought: runs in the family, don't it. Boy has a promising set of careers open to him, long as he doesn't get caught. Few years practice, though…

"Why, I brought myself, boy!" Alan chaffered, kneeling to eye level with them. "You don't get a pretty or a sweet every time I ride to town, do you?"

"Yess, ah dool" Hugh hollered.

"A body'd think I had to bribe you lads for affection."

"No puddy?" Hugh gaped, beginning to screw his face up for a heartfelt bawl of disappointment. This was betrayal at its blackest.

"Don't be a baby, Hugh, 'course he did." Sewallis chid him with a very adult-sounding touch of vexation.

Alan glanced at his eldest. Both the boys were "breeched" in adult clothing: stockings, shoes, breeches and waist-coats, shirts and stocks, their baby hair grown long enough to be plaited or drawn into a man's queue.