Harkness went forward to meet him. The man stopped as though surprised. "I beg your pardon," said Harkness; "were you expecting to meet some one here?"
"I was—yes," said the man.
"He will be back in a moment. He was afraid that you might come up the other way. He went over the hill to see."
"Aye," said the man, standing, his legs apart, quite unconcerned. He was a handsome fellow, broad-shouldered, wearing dark blue trousers and a knitted jersey. "You'll be a friend of Mr. Dunbar's maybe?"
"No, I'm not," Harkness explained. "I was passing and he asked me to wait for a moment and catch you if you came while he was away."
"Aye," said the fisherman, taking out a large wedge of tobacco and filling his pipe, "I'm a bit later than I said I'd be. Wife kept me."
"Fine evening," said Harkness.
"Aye," said the man.
At that moment the boy came over the hill and joined them. "Very good of you, sir," he said. "You're late, Jabez!"
"Good night," said Harkness, and moved down the hill. He could see the two in urgent conversation as he moved forward. The incident occupied his mind. Why had the matter seemed of such importance to the boy? Why a meeting so elaborately appointed out there on the hillside? The fisherman too had seemed surprised that he, a stranger, should be concerned in the matter.