"Hey, lad, I'm glad to see you," said Mr. Jarner, in his usual loud voice; "come inside--come inside. A tankard and a pipe and a chat ye shall have. Down, Jane! Down, Mike!"--this to the yapping terriers. "Come in, my lord."
"Hush!" said Dan, pausing on the threshold of the parlour; "not that name here."
"Ay, ay! I forgot. It is Dan I'm to call you. Sit ye down. Yonder's the chair. Wait, and I'll light up."
"Not on my account, sir," said his visitor, seating himself on the window seat. "Let us sit down here and enjoy the beauty of the evening. It is good to live on days like these. You remember Keble on the evening, vicar?"
"Ay, sir; Keble and Cowper. Both knew the quiet of eventide. Isn't that a pretty picture, sir?"--the vicar pronounced it 'pratty.' "Yon's the church tower black against the clear glow of the sky. Bats and owls are abroad; I've been watching their flittings. And hark, if you have a soul for music, Dan."
"The nightingale!"
"He's in the thicket yonder, and sings his evening hymn nightly to me. To think that yonder strain is but an invitation to battle--the cock nightingale calling to his rival!"
"Then all the sorrow of the bird----"
"Comes from the poets. Poetic invention, sir! though I don't deny the ideal view is finer than the real. But we can talk of birds and beasts another time. What brings you here, Dan?"
"A desire for your company, vicar."