All that I regret are the wasted years, and I am not sure that I regret them. And in those days, too, he used to help her mother with her gardening, and hover about her while she stood on the ladder and hammered creepers to the scullery wall. Imitating the example of Mr. About this time,—namely, in November, 1703— while young Trenchard was in Lancashire, and his sister in London, on a visit, he received a certain communication from his confidential servant, Davies, which, at once, destroyed his hopes. It belonged to his father, and was worn by him on the night he was murdered.
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