He no more than heard her. At a later period he found that the words had gone to the backwaters of his mind, where trifles lie up to float unexpectedly into the main stream. Years after he recalled distinctly her tone, her words, and the look in her eyes when she spoke them.
Now he laughed. "You two can hear the world go round, I believe." He turned to Japhra: "But how on earth you could tell—"
"Footsteps are voices, little master, when a man has lived in the stillness."
Percival laughed again—laughed for pure happiness to hear himself still given that familiar title, and for pure happiness to be again with Japhra's engaging ideas. "You're the same as ever, Japhra—the same ideas that other people don't have."
"Ah, but 'tis true," Japhra answered him. "Footsteps have tongues, and cleaner tongues than ever the mouth holds. Look how a man may oil his voice to mask his purpose—never his feet. Thine called to me, how eagerly they brought thee."
"Eagerly!—I should think they did! You're just the one I want. I've not seen you for a year—more. Eagerly—oh, eagerly!"
Japhra's bright eyes showed his delight. "And we were eager, too. We have spoken often of little master, eh, Ima? Not right to call him that now, though. Scarcely reckoned to see him so grown. Why, thou'rt a full man, little master—there slips the name again!"
He twinkled appreciatively at Percival's protest that to no other name would he answer, and he went on: "A full man. Ten stone in the chair, I would wager to it. What of the boxing?"
"Pretty good, Japhra. The gloves you gave me are worn, I can tell you."
"That's well. Never lose the boxing. It is the man's game. Ay, thou hast the boxer's build, ripe on thee now as I knew would be when I saw it in thee as a boy. The man's game—never lose it."