Mrs Blewcome did not like this point-blank questioning. She fidgetted in her chair and said nothing. Mr Campbell repeated his question. Mrs Blewcome repeated her movements, expressive of unwillingness to reply.
"Very well," said Mr Campbell, good-humouredly; "as you won't tell me, I'll tell you. You found him, two years ago, about three miles outside Wilton, a small village on the Bristol Channel. He had run away from school. He told you a long tale about himself, and, among other things, that he had a father at sea. I am his father. I only landed here last night, and, by a mere chance, have thus stumbled across my boy. Had I hunted for him, I dare say I never should have found him."
Mrs Blewcome sat in astonishment. After she had somewhat recovered, she burst out—
"Well, there, to be sure, I am so glad; dear boy; but I don't know what I shall do without 'im. I don't know what I shall do, to be sure; and Blewcome getting that hindolentlike!"
This good-natured, believing speech, touched Alan's heart. There was no indignation at her prize being carried off by one who was a mere stranger to her. There was no doubting or disbelieving his reality as the boy's father, but only unselfish joy that Harry found his own again at last!
"You are a good soul," said Mr Campbell, quite affected. "I cannot thank you enough for all your care of my boy. It's been a strange home for him, but that's no fault of yours. I shall never forget you. Here is a card; and if you are ever in need, write to me, and I will do all I can for you."
"So I s'pose I must say good-bye to 'im, sir," asked Mrs Blewcome, with trembling voice.
"Well, yes," meditated Mr Campbell, "I suppose you must."
And the parting on both sides convinced him how truly kind the good woman had been to his boy, and how she had completely won his heart.
"Don't be offended, Mrs Blewcome," he added; "but here's a trifle for you, it'll help you to paint up your caravans. I dare say they'll be none the worse for a fresh bit of colour."