I
The great Argentine trip—an affair of so much consequence in its bearing on the development of pony-breeding as to attract the attention of the "Field" in a series of articles that spoke in highest terms of "Messrs. Hannafords' well-known establishment" and of "the far-reaching effects of their new enterprise"—occupied six months. Six weeks—or days—they seemed to Percival as they fled on the novelty and the busy interests that attended him while in South America. Six years he found them on the long voyage home in the steamer that brought him and the purchases from native stock of whose blood "the far-reaching effects" were to be produced; and twice and three times six years he declared to himself he seemed to have been away as, in the closing hours of an April afternoon, the train brought him in sight—at last! at last!—of homeland scenes, of Plowman's Ridge along the eastward sky.
Quite a little party was assembled on Great Letham platform to greet him. The Rough 'Uns had driven over in two separate carts—one that should carry him to Aunt Maggie and the other that should bear his luggage—and they were there, their faces to be seen afar like crimson lamps of their excitement, and Mr. Hannaford's leg-and-cane cracks rising high above the din of escaping steam in which the train drew up, and Stingo almost completely voiceless with huskiness for more than an hour back. And Stingo had brought Japhra, arrived at the little horse farm to take up Ima after her winter with Aunt Maggie; and Mr. Hannaford had brought Ima, and they were there—Japhra with his tight mouth twitching, and deep in his puckered face his bright little eyes gleaming; and Ima, standing a shade apart, a tinge of colour crept beneath her skin, and on her lips and in her eyes her gentle smile. To complete the greeting there came shrill, ridiculous chuckles from a stout, soft gentleman, and from his sister little hops and little flutters and "There he is! He'll hit his head leaning out like that! He's browner than ever! Oh, Percival!"
And "Percival!" from them all in all their different keys, and he among them before the train was stopped, and turning from glad face to glad face, and caught up in the midst of it with a sudden wave of the old thought, like a knock at the heart, like a catch at the throat—"How jolly, jolly good they all are to me!"
Like a knock at the heart, like a catch at the throat, it took him, and checked him a moment in his responses to the congratulations and was mirrored in the flicker that went across his face. His eyes caught Japhra's and it was the look of understanding he read there, he thought, that brought Japhra to him for another word before he drove away. In the station yard the traps were waiting. "You, longside o' me—partner!" bellowed Mr. Hannaford and must shake Percival's hand again for the meaning of that word. "Up behind, Ima, my dear. We'll take partner home while Stingo leaves that box at the farm and then comes on with the rest of the luggage."
Plump Mr. Purdie and birdlike little Miss Purdie had started to walk; Stingo was throating "Come along, Japhra, come along, Japhra," in a husky whisper that no one could hear but himself; Mr. Hannaford was beginning the tremendous operation of hoisting himself up on one side of the cart while Percival, a foot on the step, was about to swing himself up on the other, when Japhra turned and came back to him.
"Thy hand a last time, master!"
"Hullo, what's this for?" Percival laughed; but saw Japhra's face grave, and went on: "You caught my eye on the platform just now, Japhra. I saw you knew how I felt. That's it, eh?"
"Something of that," Japhra answered him. "Ay, a thought of that came to me then." The note of his voice was as earnest as his eyes, and he added, "Master, there was another matter to it that I saw."
"Well, you were always the thought-reader," said Percival, and smiled at him quizzically. "What was it, Japhra?"