"Then Harriet might have written, wishing him many happy returns of the day, or have come to congratulate me upon having such a son grown to man's estate."
Having expressed this opinion, Mr. Hinchford went up-stairs to the tea which Ann Packet had prepared for him—spent an hour after tea in putting the room to rights, opening Sidney's desk and lighting the table-lamp at the side thereof.
"Now, if he come home, and there's work to be done—and if it's to be done, his one-and-twentieth birthday will not stop it—there's everything ready to begin!"
He went down-stairs to join Mr. Wesden in the parlour—the news-boy was perched on the chair in the shop, keeping guard over the goods that night—and found Harriet Wesden seated at the fireside.
"Why, it's all coming true," cried the old gentleman, seizing both hands of Harriet, and shaking them up and down, "and he's coming home!"
"Have you thought so, too?" asked Harriet.
"Well, I have hoped so, at all events; and it seems as if we were waiting for him now, and he must come. But don't talk too much about that, please," he said, with his characteristic tug at his stock, "or I shall feel as if something had happened when he keeps away. But we'll drink the boy's health, at all events, God bless him! and we'll have a game at whist, three and a dummy, and make quite a party of it in our little way. Sid one-and-twenty, Wesden! by all that's glorious, it's a fine thing to have a son come to maturity!"
Wine-glasses were produced—even a pack of cards, a brand new pack from the stock—and Sid's health was drunk very quietly, without any musical honours, but very heartily, for all that.
And five minutes after the health had been drunk, Sidney Hinchford, portmanteau in hand, entered the shop, and walked straight into the parlour.
"I said he'd come!" exclaimed the father. "Many happy returns of the day, you runaway! God bless you, my boy, and grant you health and happiness!"