“What is it, George? Why don’t you tell us?” my mother asked quickly. And, to my surprise, her hand, in which mine was resting, was as cold as ice, notwithstanding the August heat.
He raised himself in his stirrups and shouted so that all might hear:
“Squire Ravenor be come to life again! They ’a’ found him on an island in the Pacific, close against the coral reef where his yacht went down six years ago! He’s on his way home again, lads. Think of that! Sal, lass, bring us up a gallon of ale and another after it. We’ll drink to his homecoming, lads!”
There was a burst of applause and many exclamations of wonder. My mother’s hand had moved, as though unconsciously, to my shoulder, and she was leaning heavily upon me.
“Where did you hear this, George?” she asked, in a subdued tone.
“Why, it be in all the London papers this morning,” he answered, taking off his hat and wiping his forehead. “The steamer that’s bringing him home ’a’ sent a message from some foreign port, and Lawyer Cox he’s got one, and it’s all written up large on the walls of the Corn Exchange. I reckon it’ll make those deuced lawyers sit up!” chuckled my father, as he slowly dismounted.
“Lord-a-mercy! Only to think on it! Six year on a little bit o’ an island, and not a living soul to speak a word to! And now he’s on his way home again. It beats all story-telling I ever heerd on. Why, Alice, lass, it ’a’ quite upset you,” he added, looking anxiously at my mother. “You’re all white and scared-like. Dost feel badly?”
She was standing with her back to us and when she turned round it seemed to me that a change had crept into her face.
“It is the heat and excitement,” she said quietly. “This is strange news. I think that I will go in and rest.”
“All right, lass! Get thee indoors and lie down for a bit. Now, then, lads. Hurrah for the squire and long life to him! Pour it out, Jim—pour it out! Don’t be afraid on it. Such news as this don’t coom every day.”