“Glad to see you?” I cried. “I can’t tell you how glad. But sit down. Here, give me your hat.”
“Gently, young ’un, there’s something in it. Pr’aps I’d better keep it on.”
“No, no,” I cried, catching it from his hands, and forcing him back into the easy-chair.
“Gently, young ’un,” he said, thrusting one hand up the cuff of his long brown coat, which, with its high collar, almost seemed to be the same as the one in which I saw him first—“gently, young ’un,” he said; “you’ve broke my pipe.”
I burst out laughing, and, weak as it may sound, the tears came to my eyes again, as I saw him draw from up his sleeve a long clay pipe broken in three, and once more the old scenes in the deserted rifled house came back.
“Never mind the pipe, Mr Rowle,” I cried. “You shall have a dozen if you like, twice as long as that. But you must be hungry and tired. I am glad to see you.”
“Thankye, young ’un,” he said, smiling; and the old man’s lip quivered a little as he shook my hand. “I didn’t expect it of you, but I thought I’d come and see if you’d forgotten me.”
I ran to the bell, and Mary came up directly, and smiled and nodded at my visitor.
“Mary,” I said, “let’s have some supper directly—a bit of something hot. And, I say, bring up that long pipe of Revitts’—the churchwarden, you know. I’ve got some tobacco.”
“I’ve got a bit of tobacco,” said Mr Rowle, “and—you’ve taken my hat away—there’s something in it. Thankye. I thought, maybe, they might come in useful. They’re quite fresh.”