A WELCOME AND AN UNWELCOME VISITOR.
Three days had scarcely elapsed, when I found myself mounted on my good steed, and gaily trotting along the road on my way to Moncton Park.
Honest Dan Simpson insisted on being my companion for the first stage. "Just," said he, "to take care of me, and see how I got along." I could gladly have dispensed with his company, for I longed to be alone; but to hurt the good fellow's feelings, would have been the height of ingratitude.
He had indignantly rejected the ample remuneration which Sir Alexander had remitted for his services.
"I took care of you for love, sir. It was no trouble, but a pleasure. As to money—I don't want it, I have saved a good pile for old age, and have neither wife nor child to give it to when I die. Lord! sir, I was afraid that you would take it ill, or I was going to ask you if you wanted any. I should have been proud to accommodate you, until you had plenty of your own."
I could have hugged the dear old man in my arms. Fortunately my being on horseback prevented such an excess. I turned to him to speak my thanks, but a choking in my throat prevented my uttering a word. He caught the glance of my moist eye, and dashed the dew, with his hard hand, from his own.
"I know what you would say, Mr. Geoffrey. But you need not say it—it would only make me feel bad."
"I shall never forget your kindness, Dan; but will always reckon you among my best friends."
"That's enough, sir: I'm satisfied, overpaid," and the true-hearted fellow rode close up to me and held out his hand. I shook it warmly. He turned his horse quickly round, and the sharp ringing of his hoofs on the rocky road told me that he was gone.