“I expect it is a revolution that we want. There has been a great deal of pottering, but the right thing has yet to be done. John, I must be going. Will you order my horse?”
“Yes, and ride with you. It will be like old times.”
They had a delightful ride, and almost forgot that they were not boy and girl together. They went the longest way round, and yet reached their destination sooner than they wished.
Hornby Hall was an old-fashioned manor house—large, substantial, and comfortable—standing in its own grounds, and itself covering considerable space. It was built in the Gothic style, and had any number of large, low rooms, with thick walls, and ample chimney-corners and enticing window seats.
The master, “a fine old English gentleman,” came forward to greet his nephew with much cordiality, and John Dallington felt proud of his uncle, as well he might, for he was an upright man, who could not do a mean thing, stately in form and spotless in character, a magistrate, a member of the County Council, a man whose name was respected through the whole province, whose keen grey eyes seemed to see everything, whose courteous bearing delighted everybody, who was beloved and honoured by the poor and admired and trusted by the rich; a man without reproach, whose glory was not in what he had, but in what he was. It was a privilege to be related to him, as Dallington felt.
“Welcome home, my boy,” he said, kindly. “I am glad you have come into your own, and that we shall see something of you again. I wish you health and happiness for your new life. Come in, and be made much of by your aunt and cousins; they are not all such forward things as Tom, but they will be just as glad to see you.”
And indeed they appeared to be, and seemed bent on spoiling the returned wanderer, who might have been a veritable prodigal son, so eager were they to lavish the best of everything upon him.
John spent some very pleasant hours that day at Hornby Hall, hearing the news and telling stories of his own experiences. His cousins were merry girls, quick at repartee, and full of good-humoured fun. Some of them were married, but there were quite enough of them at home to fill the old house with pleasant sights and sounds.
In the afternoon Mr. Whitwell took his nephew over the farm and showed him the improvements he had made during his absence. “You must see my model cottages, John,” he said. “The old places were falling into dis-repair, and were not very comfortable to live in; but you will be pleased with these, I think.”
“These are scarcely like the old style of agricultural cottages.”