The Eagle's Shadow eBook

This eBook from the Gutenberg Project consists of approximately 193 pages of information about The Eagle's Shadow.

It is not to be supposed that he omitted to supply himself with a coat-of-arms.  Frederick R. Woods evinced an almost childlike pride in his heraldic blazonings.

“The Woods arms,” he would inform you, with a relishing gusto, “are vert, an eagle displayed, barry argent and gules.  And the crest is out of a ducal coronet, or, a demi-eagle proper.  We have no motto, sir—­none of your ancient coats have mottoes.”

The Woods Eagle he gloried in.  The bird was perched in every available nook at Selwoode; it was carved in the woodwork, was set in the mosaics, was chased in the tableware, was woven in the napery, was glazed in the very china.  Turn where you would, an eagle or two confronted you; and Hunston Wyke, who is accounted something of a wit, swore that Frederick R. Woods at Selwoode reminded him of “a sore-headed bear who had taken up permanent quarters in an aviary.”

There was one, however, who found the bear no very untractable monster.  This was the son of his brother, dead now, who dwelt at Selwoode as heir presumptive.  Frederick R. Woods’s wife had died long ago, leaving him childless.  His brother’s boy was an orphan; and so, for a time, he and the grim old man lived together peaceably enough.  Indeed, Billy Woods was in those days as fine a lad as you would wish to see, with the eyes of an inquisitive cherub and a big tow-head, which Frederick R. Woods fell into the habit of cuffing heartily, in order to conceal the fact that he would have burned Selwoode to the ground rather than allow any one else to injure a hair of it.

In the consummation of time, Billy, having attained the ripe age of eighteen, announced to his uncle that he intended to become a famous painter.  Frederick R. Woods exhorted him not to be a fool, and packed him off to college.

Billy Woods returned on his first vacation with a fragmentary mustache and any quantity of paint-tubes, canvases, palettes, mahl-sticks, and such-like paraphernalia.  Frederick R. Woods passed over the mustache, and had the painters’ trappings burned by the second footman.  Billy promptly purchased another lot.  His uncle came upon them one morning, rubbed his chin meditatively for a moment, and laughed for the first time, so far as known, in his lifetime; then he tiptoed to his own apartments, lest Billy—­the lazy young rascal was still abed in the next room—­should awaken and discover his knowledge of this act of flat rebellion.

I dare say the old gentleman was so completely accustomed to having his own way that this unlooked-for opposition tickled him by its novelty; or perhaps he recognised in Billy an obstinacy akin to his own; or perhaps it was merely that he loved the boy.  In any event, he never again alluded to the subject; and it is a fact that when Billy sent for carpenters to convert an upper room into an atelier, Frederick R. Woods spent two long and dreary weeks in Boston in order to remain in ignorance of the entire affair.

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The Eagle's Shadow from Project Gutenberg. Public domain.
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