The young man was following as a matter of course; but the woodman, with his hand still on the latch, pointed to a wooden seat under the window.
“Take your seat there, sir,” he said, with grim determination.
The other stared, and the hot blood rose to his face; but he threw himself on the bench.
“Very well,” he said; “I see you still think me a ghost; you’ll be more easy when you see me drink. Look sharp, my good fellow.”
The woodman, not a whit moved by this taunt, entered the cottage, and the young man heard a bolt shot into its place.
A few moments passed, and then the man came out with a plate and a glass.
“Thanks,” said the young man. “What’s this?”
“Cider—cake,” was the curt answer.
“Oh, thanks,” repeated the other; “jolly good cider, too. Come, you’re not half a bad fellow. Do you know I meant to give you a hiding when I came up to you?”
“Very like,” said the man, calmly. “Will you have any more?”