opened the gate and passed out.
“Evening,” said the horseman, in a voice muffled by the fur of his coat-collar.
“Good-evening,” replied Grey shortly.
“Loon Dyke Farm,” said the stranger, in a tone less of inquiry than of making a statement.
68
Grey nodded, and turned to move away. Then he seemed to hesitate, and turned again to the stranger. Those eyes! Where had he seen just such a pair of eyes before? He tried to think, but somehow his memory failed him. The horseman had turned his face towards the house and so the great roving eyes were hidden. But Grey was too intent upon the business he had in hand to devote much thought to anything else.
There was no further reason for remaining; he had satisfied his curiosity. He would learn all about the stranger later on.
He hurried round to the stables. When he had gone the stranger dismounted; for a moment or two he stood with one hand on the gate and the other holding the horse’s reins, gazing after the retreating form of the Customs officer. He waited until the other had disappeared, then leisurely hitched his horse’s reins on to the fence of the enclosure, and, passing in through the gate, approached the house. Presently he saw Grey ride away, and a close observer might have detected the sound of a heavy sigh escaping from between the embracing folds of the fur collar as the man walked up the path and rapped loudly upon the front door with his mitted fist. The three-footed hound had closed up on his master, and now stood beside him.
Prudence opened the door. Tea was just ready; and she answered the summons, half expecting to find that her lover had thought better of his ill-humour and had returned to share the evening meal. She drew back well within the house when she realized her mistake. The stranger stood for one 69 second as though in doubt; then his voice reached the waiting girl.
“Prudence, isn’t it?”
The girl started. Then a smile broke over her pretty, dark face.
“Why, it’s Hervey––brother Hervey. Here, mother,” she called back into the house. “Quick, here’s Hervey. Why, you dear boy, I didn’t expect you for at least a week––and then I wasn’t sure you would come. You got my letter safely then, and you must have started off almost at once––you’re a real good brother to come so soon. Yes, in here; tea is just ready. Take off your coat. Come along, mother,” she called out again joyously. “Hurry; come as fast as you can; Hervey is here.” And she ran away towards the kitchen. Her mother’s movements were far too slow to suit her.
The man removed his coat, and voices reached him from the direction of the kitchen.
“Dearie me, but, child, you do rush one about so. Where is he? There, you’ve left the door open; and whose is that hideous brute of a dog? Why, it looks like a timber-wolf. Send him out.”
Mrs. Malling talked far more rapidly than she walked, or rather trotted, under the force of her daughter’s bustling excitement. Hervey went out into the hall to meet her. Standing framed in the doorway he saw his dog.
“Get out, you brute,” he shouted, and stepping quickly up to the animal he launched a cruel kick at it which caught it squarely on the chest. The beast turned solemnly away without a sound, and Hervey closed the door.
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The mother was the first to meet him. Her stout arms were outstretched, while her face beamed with pride, and her eyes were filled with tears of joy.
“My dear, dear boy,” she exclaimed, smiling happily. Hervey made no reciprocal movement. He merely bent his head down to her level and allowed her to kiss his cheek. She hugged him forcefully to her ample bosom, an embrace from which he quickly released himself. Her words then poured forth in a swift, incoherent flow. “And to think I believed that I should never see you again. And how you have grown and filled out. Just like your father. And where have you been all this time, and have you kept well? Look at the tan on his face, Prudence, and the beard too. Why, I should hardly have known you, boy, if I hadn’t ’a known who it was. Why, you must be inches taller than your father for sure––and he was a tall man. But you must tell me all about yourself when the folks are all gone to-night. We are having a party, you know. And isn’t it nice?––you will be here for Prudence’s wedding–––”
“Don’t you think we’d better go into the parlour instead of standing out here?” the girl interrupted practically. Her mother’s rambling remarks had shown no sign of cessation, and the tea was waiting. “Hervey must be tired and hungry.”
“Well, I must confess I am utterly worn out,” the man replied with a laugh. “Yes, mother, if tea is ready let’s come along. We can talk during the meal.”
They passed into the parlour. As they seated themselves at the table, Sarah Gurridge joined them 71 from her place beside the stove. Hervey had not noticed her presence when he first entered the room, and the good school-ma’am, quietly day-dreaming, had barely awakened to the fact of his coming. Now she, too, joined in the enthusiasm of the moment.
“Ah, Hervey,” she said, with that complacent air of proprietorship which our early preceptors invariably assume, “you haven’t forgotten me, I know.
| ‘Though the tempest of life will oft shut out the past, The thoughts of our school-days remain to the last.’ ” |
“Glad to see you, Mrs. Gurridge. No, I haven’t forgotten you,” the man replied.
A slight pause followed. The women-folk had so much to say that they hardly knew where to begin. That trifling hesitation might have been accounted for by this fact. Or it might have been that Hervey was less overjoyed at his home-coming than were his mother and sister.
Prudence was the first to speak.
“Funny that I should have set a place more than I intended at the tea-table,” she said, “and funnier still that when I found out what I’d done I didn’t remove the plate and things. And now you turn up.” She laughed joyously.
Sarah Gurridge looked over in the girl’s direction and shook an admonitory forefinger at her.
“Mr. Grey, my dear––you were thinking of Mr. Grey, in spite of your lover’s tiff.”
“Who did you say?” asked Hervey, with a quick glance at Prudence.
“Leslie Grey,” said his mother, before the old school-ma’am could reply. “Didn’t our Prudence tell you when she wrote? He’s the man she’s going to 72 marry. I must say he’s not the man I should have set on for her; but she’s got her own ploughing to seed, and I’m not the one to say her ‘nay’ when she chooses her man.”
Hervey busied himself with his food, nor did he look up when he spoke.
“That was Grey, I s’pose, I saw riding away as I came up? Good, square-set chunk of a man.”
“Yes, he left just before you came,” said Prudence. “But never mind about him, brother. Tell us about yourself. Have you made a fortune?”
“For sure, he must,” said their mother, gazing with round, proud eyes upon her boy, “for how else came he to travel from California to here, just to set his eyes on us and see a slip of a girl take to herself
