"My blessed Tom, my only and sweet boy, your poor mother is happy to get you back again. The dogs and colts, Tom, are well; the hounds all well, my Tommy. Your poor mother has looked well after them. And there's your father, waiting, Tom, to shake hands—and here's Sally Hancock!"
Mrs. Pynsent withdrew her arms reluctantly, and her son advanced to shake hands with his father. Mr. Pynsent's mild countenance shone with pleasure as he congratulated him upon his return, and confessed how much he had missed his society. Tom Pynsent was in tearing spirits at finding himself upon Hatton ground, listening to affectionate speeches delivered in pure English again. He shook hands with every one, and saluted every lady.
"How do you all do? How do you do, my fat aunt, Hancock? How do you do, Pen? Why, Spottiswoode, have you waited for me to be your bridegroom's man? How do you do, Sir John? I have brought home my little woman, quite rosy, you see—here she is. So, little Miss with the long name, how are you? Upon my soul, you all look 'grass!'" Tom Pynsent held his hand to his mouth, and turned again to the hall-door.
"Tally-ho, there!—bring 'em round, Barton!"
The saddled horse was trotted up, and Tom Pynsent sprang upon his back. He waved his hand to the company.
"I use no ceremony.—One gallop round the park, and I'll be amongst you again. Tally-ho, there. Tally-ho!"
The mettled steed plunged and reared under the tightened rein, while his master spoke; but, in an instant, he dashed from the door, and the horse and his rider were seen flying down the park, followed by the whole complement of dogs and attendants. Mrs. Pynsent gazed after her son with proud delight.
"I say, Bobby, there he goes! Didn't I tell you he would love to see his dogs round him? Bless him, his mother knew his tastes. There's his little wife gone off with her father! She does not stay to look at Tom. She doesn't care for his whims, Sally Hancock—how should a Wetheral care for any thing?—I don't, and I can't, abide a woman who is indifferent to Tom's whims."
"Don't mob the Wetherals, Pen; it's only the old lady: they can't help their mother."