Tony racing after a Rabbit.
“Why, Giles,” said the farmer on nearing home, “what’s all this fuss about? Why is the garden gate open, and why is all this fuss going on here?”
“Why, young Mr. Harry’s come home! Oh! master, master, an’ he’s growed a man, and he’s that big an’ strong an’ grand, he’d make two of me, master!”
“What!” said the farmer, springing from his seat. “Well, I’m blest—Hal? Why, old Simon, you must have smelt him—for I’ve never seen you skip up the road like that. Oh! Hal! Hal! my lad—why, you are a man indeed! My bonny lad—” as a stalwart fellow came forward to greet him.
“Father!” cried his son, and the two men clasped hands.
Presently the old man spoke.
“Why, it’s thee, it’s thee, Harry!” and tears crept into the farmer’s voice.
You see it was ten years since Harry Fairfax had left home, a stripling, and now he had returned a sunburnt hearty man with a strong mellow voice, and eyes that were bright and merry and kind.
“Hasn’t he grown big, father?” said Mrs. Fairfax, mopping her eyes with a big roller towel she was busy folding when her son arrived. Then she flicked a stray bit of down which had blown upon his coat sleeve, flicked it away, and stroked the arm with a proud feeling of possession. “Do come into the house, Harry dear, and get a rest while I see to a bit of dinner. Father, I do believe this is the happiest day of my life.”
“Just wait till I bait Blackie, mother,” said her son, “I’ll be with you in a minute, but I want to attend to my beauty first. Ah! she’s a grand little lady, mother!”