The thought at once suggested itself to Horace that this must be some poor lunatic escaped from an asylum, and the idea of a solitary encounter in that lonely spot was not an agreeable one, especially as the young man had no other weapon with him than a thin walking-cane, and he was well aware that these poor creatures, when excited and at liberty, often exhibited great strength of limb, and made use of it without scruple to the detriment of any they might fall in with; so he took no heed of the outcry, and hastened his pace onwards. But this had only the effect of exasperating his pursuer, who bawled out to him to stop, and then began to make after him with a shuffling sort of run. So when Horace looked back, and saw the presumed lunatic thus quickening his speed, and also wildly flourishing his whip, he fairly broke into a run himself, considering that, under the circumstances, “discretion was,” undoubtedly, “the better part of valour.” He was, however, arrested in his flight by a roaring burst of laughter from the supposed madman, which made him pause for a moment and turn full round; and then he became convinced that the cause of his anxiety, who was now leaning his back against a bank, and still laughing vociferously, was none other than the old caravan hawker, Ruby Grigg.
As soon as he could recover himself, the old man began to walk quietly forward, motioning to the other to come and meet him. Horace did this, though with some little reluctance, not feeling sure that the old man’s excitement might not be caused by either insanity or drink. But he was soon satisfied that all was right on that score, as the two drew nearer together.
“So you took me for a highwayman or a madman, Mr Horace!” said the old man, still laughing. “Eh! I don’t wonder; you must have thought it very strange. But I never thought how it’d look when I hollered arter you; I were only afeard you’d get out of hearing, and I’ve something to tell you as’ll make your heart right glad, I know.”
“What is it, my friend?”
“Well, can you spare me a few minutes, and I’ll tell you? My van’s just a few yards down the lane you crossed a minute ago. You didn’t look that way as you passed, and I didn’t take it in at first that it was yourself; and when my wife said, ‘There’s Mr Horace Jackson just gone by,’ I ran to the top of the lane just as I was, whip and all, and shouted arter you. Can you come with me for a minute?”
“With all my heart,” replied the other.
So they turned back, and soon reached the van, which was drawn up by the hedge-side, Grip and the old horse strolling about at leisure, and Mrs Gregson being engaged in cooking something savoury in an iron pot which was suspended over an open-air fire, gipsy fashion.
When Horace had seated himself on the bank, the old hawker plunged into his travelling shop, and having returned with something in his right
hand, seated himself by his young companion. “It’s this here little Testament as has been and gone and done it,” he said abruptly, opening his hand at the same time and disclosing the book which Horace had given him at their last meeting.