“Ha, Ned!” says he, “here I am, and do hope you are but half so pleased to behold me as I to meet you again. Love and lordship like no fellowship, ’tis said, but methought you would find room for your old friend for a day or two. Pray, is this my fair friend Mrs Carlyon?—my friend, I say, though I never yet saw her, from my hearing so much touching her. Madam, I could well believe, but for the presence of these young gentlemen, that you were married but a year at most. And pray, where is my godson? Is he that naughty rogue I saw run on but now when his governor called him back? Fie, lad, fie! Did you never hear that He that will not be rul’d by his owne dame, must bee ruled by his step-dame? this signifying that a harder discipline must be used where a milder fails. Nay, Ned, my dear lad, I an’t Methusalem!”
This because Dorothy and I had now conveyed him into the parlour (he talking fast all the time, for to keep back the tears that were near his eyes), and were desiring him to sit and rest himself in my father’s great chair, that was never used by us, but stood ready with its cushions even as he had last left it. But my dear Mr Martin was like a father to me, and I would fain have him sit in Sir Harry’s chair. And here at last we gat him seated, when he looked round upon us with a prodigious happiness in his face.
“You will remain with us, dear sir?” says Dorothy.
“If you’ll put up with a peevish old man, madam,” says he.
“For shame, sir!” says she. “Hal, go bid Mr Martin’s coachman drive round to the stables, and tell Loll Duss and Miles who is arrived.”
“May I go with Hal, madam, and see the horses put up?” says Bob.
“See here, my little man,” says Mr Martin, “if your governor will suffer you, go to my servant Rum Cunder, and ask him to let you see a certain beast that he hath in a cage. Maybe you han’t neither of you often seen his like.”
“Oh, sir, please come at once,” says Bob in a great hurry, and departs with his brother and Mr Tilney. Mr Martin turned to my wife and me when the door was once shut—
“You were in some trouble when I arrived, Ned, and you also, my dear madam. I saw so much in your faces. If you had rather that I tarried at the inn, and not here, don’t scruple to tell me so. A friend is never knowne till a man have need, and what good is he if a man don’t dare tell him when he would fain not entertain him?”
“On the contrary, sir,” says I, “though we should at any time be ready to welcome you with delight, yet now especially are we in such a case as we had as soon see you as an angel from heaven.”