"Weston!" he cried, seizing the man's arm.
The labourer shook himself free, and in a severe tone corrected the stranger.
"Mister Weston, I told ye."
"I ask your and Mr. Weston's pardon. A well-to-do man this Mr. Weston?"
The labourer scanned the stranger's clothes; the mental result was not favourable.
"That be his business, 'a b'lieve," he said suspiciously.
Apparently in an absent mood, the stranger drew from his pocket a handful of articles, among which were a short pipe, a tobacco-pouch, and some money. Somewhat ostentatiously he picked out a few silver and copper pieces, and held them loosely in his left hand. The labourer, who was about to slouch away, altered his mind, and lingered patiently.
"Good cider about here, my man?" asked the stranger.
"That there be," replied the labourer, drawing the back of his hand across his mouth. "The best in the county."
"I passed an old-fashioned hostelry--more like a gentleman's house than an hotel--about half a mile from this spot----" the stranger paused.