The new-comer went slowly up the ladder, looked at my work, and then took out a small knife with a flat ivory handle, came down again, stropped the knife on his boot, went up, and pared my stump just round the edge, taking off a very thin smooth piece of bark.
“Good!” he said as he wiped his knife, came down, and put the knife away; “but your knife wanted a touch on a bit o’ Turkey-stone. How are you, Ezra?”
Old Brownsmith set down some cats gently, got up off the bushel basket slowly, and shook hands.
“Fairly, Solomon, fairly; and how are you?”
“Tidy,” said the visitor, “tidy;” and he stared very hard at me. “This is him, is it?”
“Yes, this is he, Solomon. Grant, my lad, this is my brother Solomon.”
I bowed after the old fashion taught at home.
“Shake hands. How are you?” said Mr Solomon; and I shook hands with him and said I was quite well, I thanked him; and he said, “Hah!”
“He has just come up from Hampton, Grant—from Sir Francis Linton’s. He’s going to take you back.”
“Take me back, sir!” I said wonderingly. “Have—have I done anything you don’t like?”