So on the morrow they gathered round him, Mr. Benbow, Mrs. Benbow, two of the Malt-House Farm boys, the old woman who kept the grocer's shop, and who had been doing a good trade in sweetmeats since Hieronymus came, the exciseman, and Joan Hammond, and old John of the wooden leg. They were all there, sorrowful to part with him, glad to have known him.
"If you would only stay," said Mrs. Benbow; "there are so many odd jobs for you to do!"
"No, I must go," said the historian. "There is an end to everything, excepting to your beef-tea. But I've been very happy."
His luggage had increased since he came to Little Stretton. He had arrived with a small portmanteau; he went away with the same portmanteau, an oak chair which Mr. Benbow had given him, and a small hamper containing Gamboge.
"Take care how you carry that hamper," he said to the porter. "There is a dog inside undergoing a cat incarnation!"
To Joan he said: "Little secretary, answer the advertisement and go out into the world."
And she promised.
And to David he said: "When you've finished that book-list write to me for another one."
And he promised.
Then the train moved off, and the dear kind face was out of sight.