A towel had been hung out in the hedge, which was the recognised signal to Joyce, the carrier, that he was expected to draw up for a consignment of some kind, and presently one of the children, running in, announced that the van was at the gate. Tom led round Chrissy, a matronly animal, mild in the eye, long in the tooth, and with a figure whose symmetry was a thing of the past. Tom had, as he explained, managed to get a good bit of grease out of her coat, though he had not had time to trim her fetlocks, which were indeed marvellously shaggy, while her rusty tail almost swept the ground.
Granfer appeared in the doorway with his weeping family clinging to him, his sword in his hand, his cap set at a jaunty angle on the top of his bald head, but the rest of his military glory hidden beneath a comfortable frieze coat.
After explaining his project to Mr. Joyce, the carrier, who was speechless with admiration and astonishment, the saddle was laid inside the van, and Granfer, tearing himself from his womenkind, climbed up beside the driver. And so they set off, with poor Chrissy meekly following at the rear of the vehicle; and the distracted family standing by the gate until the clipper-clopper of her heavy hoofs sounded faint in the distance.
* * * * *
What was the joyful surprise of the Sampson household when, late on that same day, Mr. Joyce’s van was observed to slacken as it approached their house, and, moreover, the jaded form of the faithful Chrissy was seen to be jogging in the rear; when, indeed, the well-known bellow of Granfer himself hailed them from a distance of a hundred yards or so, and presently his burly form alighted from the vehicle.
“Well,” he remarked, with an odd expression, in which perplexity appeared to struggle with relief, “I be come back, ye see.”
“Dear heart alive, Granfer. I be main glad!” ejaculated Mrs. Sampson, breathlessly. “Lard, I can’t tell ’ee how glad I be! There, I’ve been a-frettin’ of myself to death very near all day; but however did they come to let ’ee off?”
“Well,” said Granfer, after nodding farewell to Mr. Joyce, and waiting till the van had proceeded on its way, “I were a bit surprised myself, but it seems I’ve missed the job by three months.”
“Why, how’s that?” cried Polly and Annie together, while Grandma, with groans of gratitude, remarked she didn’t care how many months it was—she was only too thankful he had missed it.
“If I’d ha’ been turned seventy,” went on the farmer, his face vacillating oddly between triumph and disappointment, “I’d have been took on. But come in an’ I’ll tell ye all about it.”