“Mother,” cried Cæsar, going in at the porch, “gentleman here from foreign parts to put a word on you.”
“I never had nobody there belonging to me,” began Grannie.
“No, then, nobody?” said Cæsar.
“One that was going to be, maybe, if he'd lived, poor boy——”
“Grannie!” shouted Pete, and he burst into the bar-room.
“Goodness me!” cried Grannie; “it's his own voice anyway.”
“It's himself,” shouted Pete, and the old soul was in his arms in an instant.
“Aw dear! Aw dear!” she panted. “Pete it is for sure. Let me sit down, though.”
“Did you think it was his ghost, then, mother!” said Cæsar with an indulgent air.
“'Deed no,” said Grannie. “The lad wouldn't come back to plague nobody, thinks I.”