A few moments later, the Squire and Hal were in sight of him. Hal, as usual, was just ready with some question, when his grandfather uttered an exclamation of pleasure and surprise. At the same moment, a look of recognition passed over the artist's face, and he rose, respectfully doffing his hat.
"Why, Grantley!" exclaimed the old gentleman, hurrying forward with extended hand. "I little thought you were upon my domains."
"On Tommy Tinker's ground," put in, sotto voce, Will, who always had something mischievous at the tip of his tongue.
The artist replied that he himself had not been aware of it until, inquiring his way of a labouring man up by the church, he had learned the name of the place. "I intended doing myself the honour of calling on you later in the day," he added; "when the air becomes too chilly for work."
"By all means," said the Squire cordially. "I shall be delighted. I see you have already made acquaintance with my bailiff, or his housekeeper," added he, glancing at the chair.
Grantley acquiesced. "A decent, hospitable kind of body too," returned he; "offered to get me luncheon presently—which, by the way, I think will come acceptable before long; for I breakfasted at six, preparatory to my tramp over from the town; and I find your country air sharpening to the appetite."
"You will find my bailiff but indifferent company, I fear," said the Squire. "Farmer Bluff is all that his name implies; a gouty old sinner, too, who deserves every twinge in his joints as heartily as ever any one did. However, if he is expecting you, of course—"
"Oh! From what the good woman said," interrupted Grantley, "I am not to enjoy the honour of sitting down with Farmer Bluff. She spoke of her front kitchen."
"I suspected as much," rejoined the Squire. "Bluff was never noted for the virtue of hospitality, and never will be. This is simply a scheme of Dame Elspeth's to turn an honest half-crown. That being so, I propose that you come up to lunch with me at the Manor House; or if that will take you from your work too soon, go in and have a snack of bread and bacon in Elspeth's kitchen, and come on to dine with me at six."
This arrangement seemed best to suit Grantley, who was anxious to lose none of the short spring day. "It will make a pretty sketch," said he, "if I can do it justice; but I am expecting a lad back presently—the one who fetched out Dame Elspeth and the chair; a lively urchin, from the way in which he scrambled through the hedge there, rather than go round like ordinary folk to the front entrance."