The appearance of Mrs. Pendelly announcing that supper was ready was a great relief to her.
She jumped up with alacrity. Jake Pullsford came back to earth. He was breathing hard. The visitor had signified his intention of resuming his journey, if his horse could be shod. Jake was entreating him to pass the night at his house, only a mile up the valley.
The miller was beginning to feel awkward. He was hospitably inclined, but he was not presumptuous. The blacksmith was fast losing his professional bearing; a sniff of the salmon steaks had come through the open door.
It was the visitor whose tact made the situation easy for everyone.
“Sir,” he said to the miller, “I have arrived here so opportunely for myself that I will not even go through the pretence of offering to go to the wayside inn, which our good friend Jake Pullsford tells me is some miles away. I know that I can throw myself on your hospitality and that you would feel affronted if I hurried on. I have no mind to do so—to be more exact, I should say no stomach.”
“Sir, if your reverence will honour my house I can promise you a wholesome victual,” said the miller. “Even if you was not a friend o' my friend Jake here, who might, I think, have named my name in your ear, you would still be welcome.”.
“I know it, sir,” said Wesley, offering the miller his hand. “I thank you on behalf of myself and my good partner whose bridle I hung over your ring-post. A feed of oats will put new spirit in him in spite of the loss of his shoe.”
“The horse shall be seen to, Mr. Wesley. Susan, the stable bell,” said the miller, and his daughter set a bell jangling on the gable wall.
“Again my thanks, good friend,” said Wesley.
“May I beg your leave to be presented to my fellow-guests at your table, sir?”