The men had not progressed far, for their way was through stones and cement, which showed how, at one time, there must have been either a boundary-wall or a building there; and as they stood by the opening the latter was proved to be the case, for Dick stooped down and picked up a piece of ancient roofing lead.
“Yes, Dick, this must have been a fine old place at one time,” said the squire. “Let’s get back. Be a bit of a frost to-night, I think.”
“I hope not, father.”
“And I hope it will, my boy! I like to get the cold now, not when the young trees are budding and blossoming.”
They went in, to find the ample supper spread upon its snowy cloth and the empty jug standing ready for the ale to be drawn to flank the pinky ham, yellow butter, and well-browned young fowl.
“No, wife, no! Can’t see any sign of him yet,” said the squire. “Dick, get me my pipe. I’ll have just one while we’re waiting. Hope he has not taken the wrong road!”
“Do you think he has?” said Mrs Winthorpe anxiously. “It would be very dangerous for him now it is growing dark.”
“No, no; nonsense!” said the squire, filling his pipe from the stone tobacco-jar Dick had taken from the high chimney-piece of the cosy, low, oak-panelled room.
It was a curious receptacle, having been originally a corbel from the bottom of a groin of the old building, and represented an evil-looking grotesque head. This the squire had had hollowed out and fitted with a leaden lid.
“Think we ought to go and meet him, father?” said Dick, after watching the supper-table with the longing eyes of a young boy, and then taking them away to stare at his mother’s glistening needle and the soft grey clouds from his father’s pipe.