“And ’ee saw me lad? And ’ee brought me this letter fra him? God bless ’ee, me leddy! God bless ’ee!” said the old man, in an earnest voice which trembled with agitation, as he took the girl’s hand, made as if he would have kissed it, but pressed it to his forehead and to his wet eyes instead—“God bless ’ee, me leddy!”
“It was all through the dog,” said Wynnette. “He took care of my dear dog for me, and fed him on the journey, and kept him from jumping off the train and out of all danger.”
“Oy! oy! John was ever good to animals, and varry fond of dogs, was John. And t’ lad’s doing well, ye say, me leddy?”
“Oh, yes. Read his letter,” said Wynnette.
“Oy, oy, to be sure. Here, Silas—Silas, lad—here be a letter fra furrin pairts, fra your brawther John. Come hither, Silas—and bring chairs for t’ gentlefolks. Ah! bad manners of me to be sitting while t’ gentlefolks stand!” said the patriarch, striving to get upon his feet, but failing, and sinking back.
“Pray do not disturb yourself,” said Mr. Force. “We do not wish to sit down. We would like to see the inside of the old church, if your son, the sexton, can show it to us.”
“Of coorse he can, and thet just noo. Silas, Silas, where be ye, and t’ gentlefolks waiting on ye?”
A tall, robust, tawny-headed and bearded man came out.
“Here’s a letter fra your brawther as t’ gentlefolks ha’ brought fra furrin pairts. But ’ee can read it when ’ee coom back. Gae, noo, and show t’ gentlefolks to Old Church. Coom here, Katie, me lass, and read this letter to thy auld grandad.”
This last speech was addressed to a fair-haired girl of about sixteen, who appeared at the door and courtesied to the strangers.