“All!” cried the founder, blankly.
“Yes, all at present. Wait, man; wait, and be reasonable. Such a thing as thou askest of Heaven must be the result of time, or some stronger power than thine. We have miracles enough now-a-days, for every work of God is miraculous; but we have no sacred conjuring tricks in common life. Heaven forgive me if I am irreverent. I mean we have no such sudden changes as you expected here. Tut, man, wait awhile and have some faith. I’d have more faith in a tender kiss and a loving word from Gil, than in all that thou canst do. Wait, mail, wait. Maybe he is already working at that which proved a sorry failure in thy fatherly hands.”
“He refused to come,” said the founder, sadly.
“Ay, with thee; but maybe he has stolen to her side now thou art here.”
“Dost think so?”
“Nay, I know not; but fill thy pipe, man, and wait. I have faith that our darling was not restored to us for such a life in death as this. I’ faith, friend Cobbe, I pray nightly that I may see some merry little prattlers with the faces of Gil and Mace, softened and sweet, playing round our chairs as we grow more wrinkled and more old. Heaven bless us! There’s time enough yet. See here, man,” he cried, rising and taking a curious flask and glasses from a corner cupboard, “here is some strange liquor sent me by Father Brisdone, a great man, now, in sunny France. He bids me wish him well when I drink thereof, and I do, and pray for his health and life. There,” he continued as he filled the glasses, “here’s Father Brisdone, and now here’s Culverin Carr and his dear wife and children, bless them all.”
“All,” said the founder, fervently, as he drained his glass of the potent liquor; and then, as the evening crept on apace and the stars came blinking out, the two friends sat and smoked, with the founder’s heart growing cheery from the words and liquor of his firm old friend.
It was as dark as a summer night knows how to be, when, after a final pipe, the founder rose to go.
“Nay, but I’ll see thee home,” said Master Peasegood; “and what is more, as it is early yet, I’ll drink a flagon of ale and ask a blessing in the dear old—new—old—well, the to-be happy home;” and rising he strolled down the lane with his friend and across the bridge.
The founder opened the gate and let his companion through with a strange sensation at his breast, and he was about to lead the way round to the door when Master Peasegood’s hand was laid upon his shoulder, and with a hoarse sob he sank upon his knees, and buried his face in his hands, weeping like a child.