“Now, John, I will take you indoors to the new master.” At the door, however, John and his wife were surprised to meet Mr. Prescott.
“Ah, Mr. Holl, how are you? How are you, Mrs. Holl? Had a little business here, too, you see. Come in,” and he led the way into a neat little parlour, the former master remaining outside.
“Hullo,” John exclaimed, in utter astonishment, when, upon entering, he saw the cripple boy sitting by the fireside in the very box in which he had sat so many years by their own hearth, and which, on coming out, they had left in the spot where it had so long stood.
“Yes, father, it’s me, sure enough. Well, mother, how goes it? You see I came down here with Mr. Prescott.”
Sarah kissed her foster son tenderly, and John Holl shook him by the hand.
“But where,” John said, looking round uneasily, “is the new gaffer?”
“He’ll be here presently, father, sit you down—sit down, mother.”
“Yes, my boy, but the master mightn’t like it if he came in here and found us making so free.”
“You sit down, mother, the new master won’t mind it. He’s a good fellow, is the new master, ain’t he, Mr. Prescott?”
“He is, indeed,” Prescott said, warmly, “a right good fellow.”