Here was the landlord himself with his big apron on, a burly fellow with a kindly face, and as Tandy stepped on shore he was welcomed with a hearty handshake.
“Ah: Cap’en Tandy, and ’ow’s you. And here is Ransey Tansey, bright and bobbish, and little Babs, and Bob, and everybody. How nice you all look! But la!” he added, “it do seem such a long, long time since you were here before.”
“I’ve not had the heart to come much this way, Mr Shirley. I’ve been trading at the southern end o’ the canal.”
“And ye’ve never been here once since you put up the bit of marble slab to mark the spot where she lies?”
Ransey knew his mother was referred to, and turned aside to hide the tears.
“Never since,” says Tandy.
“Ah, cap’en, many’s the one as asks me about that slab. And the old squire himself stopped here one day and got all the story from me. And when I’d finished, never a word he said. He just heaved a biggish sort of a sigh, and went trotting on.
“But come in, Ransey, Babs, and Bob, and all. The night’s going to be chilly, and an air of the fire will do the children good.
“Sammy, just take the horse round to the stable. We’ll have a bit o’ frost to-night, I thinks.”
Ransey runs on board for a few minutes to touch up the fire, put on the guard, and make down the beds; then he joins the group around the cosy parlour fire.