Besides being thoroughly "handy" in his ordinary work, Dunn was something of a scholar. He read much, and thought over what he read. But Dunn was the last man ever to make a boast of these acquirements. People were often long in finding out his intelligence and capabilities.
Not always, however. For the young fellow by his side, Archibald Stuart by name, a last-year apprentice in the workshop of Mr. Rawdon, had already scented out "something uncommon" in the new workman. Dunn had known Archibald Stuart's father many years before, and this fact drew the two together. Moreover, Archibald's homeward road lay past Woodbine Cottage. Halfway thither, he overtook Dunn, and remained with him.
"You'll tell your mother we're here," Dunn said, as they drew near the end of their walk. "Dear me, I remember her well as a fine tall lass! There wasn't a handsomer girl about, nor one that held her head higher. Your father did think a deal of her, to be sure."
"She has been a good mother to me," Archibald said. He was a fine tall young fellow himself, doubtless taking after his mother.
"And you're her only one? No brothers nor sisters?"
"None," Archibald said. "Only mother and me."
Dunn stood still. "I won't ask you in to-day," he said. "We're all in a mess—only come this morning. But we shall see you here soon; and you: mother too."
"I hope so," Archibald answered. He did not speak with certainty, and a slight shade crossed his face.
Almost instantly the shadow passed, and was replaced by a look of admiration. For the door opened, and a voice said, "Father!" as a young girl came out to welcome him.
The young girl was not alone. A plump little woman, all smiles, stood close behind, and two children also.