Then she looked curiously at the hand Vernon had kissed, seeming surprised to find no change in its appearance. The next moment, raising her head to its usual proud angle, with a little laugh at her own folly, she shut herself into the house.
CHAPTER XVII.
When once the secret concerning the identity of the stranger at the cottage had been let out, it spread mysteriously throughout the length of the straggling village with astonishing rapidity. Ned Mitchell had come back; and, remembering the character for pigheaded obstinacy he had borne at home when he was a boy, it was safe to prophecy that there would shortly be a “shindy” somewhere. Two or three old people now declared that they had recognized him from the first, though they had been too discreet to make known the fact; and towards the close of the day following that on which he had revealed his name to Miss Denison, it became plain to him, from the whispers of young girls and the curtsies of old women, that he was the hero of the hour.
In the evening he had the honor of a call from the chief of the village busybodies, a superannuated postman, who clung to his old trade of news carrier to the community. As Ned Mitchell lived by himself, and locked up his house when he was out, the visitor had to sit on a broken horse trough which stood on the green under the trees opposite to the cottage until the colonist returned from one of his long daily rambles.
“Good-evening, squire,” said the old postman, rising with fussy respect, and hobbling quickly to the gate lest his unwilling host should shut him out before he could reach it.
Mitchell glanced towards him, and jerked at him an indifferent nod. The old man was not to be rebuffed. He had that quality of dogged and patient energy which we can most of us show in other people’s business.
“Pardon, squire,” he said, with a beggar’s humility. “Don’t be affronted with me for wishing to be one o’ t’ first to pay my respects to ye.”
“Respects!” echoed Mitchell, shortly, thrusting his hands into his pockets with an instinctive perception that these contained his most respect-worthy attribute.
“Ay, squire. I’m proud to be one o’ t’ first to welcome ye back to yer owd home.”
“Old home! What, do you call this wretched little heap of mouldy bricks and worm-eaten boards a home for me?” asked the colonist, contemptuously.