“Dickon!” Geoff called up to the second floor, reached by a sturdy open staircase. “We have a guest. I pray you come down, and bring some of your carvings.”

Richard’s heart beat a little faster as he heard his son’s footsteps hurrying to the stairs. He could not remember being so nervous when he had met Johnny. Would the boy look like himself at ten? Would he be short and thin like Ned or stocky like John? He was therefore, surprised to see a mirror image of Katherine at the same age descend the stairs. An almost girlish face peered over the banister: freckles smattered over a small nose; a generous mouth; and a mop of thick auburn hair that reminded Richard of Kate’s magnificent mane. The familiarity immediately put Richard at his ease.

“Dickon, please greet our guest the way you have been taught. Master Broome has ridden here especially to see some of your work,” Geoff said sternly.

Dickon gave an awkward bow and stared openmouthed at the man by the fireplace. Despite trying to dress quietly, Richard’s deep-blue surcoat bordered in fur, his long leather boots, and beringed fingers, dazzled the young country boy. “G…God’s greeting, sir,” Dickon managed to stammer. “I am Richard Bywood, if it please you, but I like to be called Dickon.”

It gave Richard a start to see the boy close and recognize his own serious, dark-grey eyes looking back at him. He smiled. “Then Dickon it shall be. Why don’t you show me what you have made, Dickon?”

He winked at Geoff, who drew Jane into the schoolroom to leave father and son alone.

The boy displayed half a dozen exquisitely carved figures of animals of the forest for Richard to peruse. “Do you like them, sir?” Dickon asked eagerly.

“I like them very much, Dickon. Would you permit me to buy one?” He picked up a fox and could almost swear the animal’s brush tail was real. “Because you have red hair, like a fox, this one would remind me of you. How much would you like for it?”

Dickon’s mouth opened and closed. “I d…don’t know, Master Broome. How much will you give me for it?”

Richard laughed. “Good answer, Dickon. Remember, everything worthwhile is deserving of negotiation, and this little fellow is certainly worth it. How about a penny? Oh, I see that is not enough. I apologize, then would a groat suffice?” And he reached into the pouch at his belt and drew out the silver coin.

Dickon’s eyes glowed. “I thank you, sir,” he said, holding the money in the palm of his hand as though it were gold. “I am saving up for more tools. You see, I want to be a mason when I grow up. Do you think that is possible, sir?”