“He is altered in every way—that I admit; but he is Purvis, I tell you, nevertheless.”
The farmer’s breath seemed to be taken away at this announcement.
“You be mistaken, I’m thinkin’,” said he.
“No, I am not—I am correct in my surmise.”
“Well, ye ought to know a deal better than what I do, seeing as how you have had so much experience; but I’m floored, and that’s the honest truth, and completely by the heels! Can it be possible that this young man, who was a guest at my house and was so friendly and intimate with Patty, can be the boy who years and years ago was driven from Stoke Ferry by old Mr. Jamblin, with a hare tied round his neck? It appears to be perfectly incredible.”
“It is a fact, Ashbrook; at least, such is my impression.”
“Well, I be wonder-struck—that’s all I ha’ to say ’bout it, and as to Patty, she’d be regularly done over when she hears this piece of news.”
“There won’t be any occasion for you to make her acquainted with it,” quietly observed the magistrate.
“I dunno so much about that—ye see, Mr. Kensett, I ha’ no secrets from my wife, and I don’t b’lieve she has any secrets as she keeps from me. I’d better tell her all about this business, for she’s sartin to hear on it sooner or later.”
“You are the best judge as to that, Ashbrook. Tell her if you think it advisable to do so.”