Mr. Johnson took up his gun.
“Well,” he said, “we certainly seem in smooth water now. I am afraid I was rather an unpopular resident at one time.”
“Mr. Craske was the only one on us,” the innkeeper rejoined with a grin, “as had any complaint. He did say, when you came, as he was hoping for a family man.”
The tenant of the Great House turned and faced the little company. There was a twinkle in his eyes and a gleam of mutual understanding passed between them.
“Well,” he exclaimed good-humouredly, “this is no sort of a place for keeping secrets. You’ll have another health to drink before long, I hope. Good afternoon, every one.”
He took his leave, and they watched him from behind the muslin blinds as he walked briskly up the lane and entered his domain by the postern gate.
“That do seem to me to be a proper sort of man,” the innkeeper declared emphatically.
THE END
Novels by