Kennedy Square by Francis Hopkinson Smith — Read

The colonel's treatment of Harry at the club had cleared the air of any doubt that either the boy or St. George might have had concerning Rutter's frame of mind. Henceforth the boy and the man would conduct their lives as if the Lord of Moorlands did not exist.

So the boy unpacked the things which Alec had brought in, and with his mother's assistance -- who came in once a week -- hung up his hunting-clothes in the closet, racked up his guns and fishing-rods over the mantel, and suspended his favorite saddle by a stirrup on a hook in the hall. Then the two had set out his books and miniatures; one of his mother, which he kissed tenderly, with the remark that it wasn't half as pretty as the original, and then propped up in the place of honor in the middle of his desk, and another of his father, which he placed on an adjoining table -- as well as his few belongings and knickknacks. And so the outcast settled down determined not only to adapt himself to the comforts -- or want of them -- to be found under St. George's roof, but to do it cheerfully, gratefully, and like a man and a gentleman.