"Hello!" sounded shortly, in a sharp wiry voice, from the little lane at the back of the house.
Peter, rising from his bench and going to the end of the porch, replied with a sailor-like "Aye, aye, sir," to the hail of the stranger, who was none other than the little elderly gentleman already encountered by Ruth and Mary in the woods. Without dismounting, the visitor asked, in a slow and cautious manner,
"Am I justified in presuming that I am upon the premises of the parties known as Peter and Jacob Van Deust?"
"This is where we live," replied Peter, a little puzzled by the stranger's manner.
"Pardon me, sir, but your reply is not an answer to my question. Am I to understand that you are one of the said parties?"
"I'm Peter, and this is Jacob," responded the elder brother, pointing with the stem of his pipe at the younger. "But come alongside before you get off any more of that lingo."
Methodically and carefully the rider dismounted, fastened his nag to the fence, and pushing open the little gate, stepped upon the low porch-floor, where, after an elaborate bow to each of the brothers separately, he continued:
"Assuming your affirmation to be correct and capable of substantiation by documentary evidence, and believing that you are, as you represent yourselves—or, rather, as one of you has represented—Peter and Jacob Van Deust, permit me, gentlemen, to have the pleasure of offering you my congratulations."
So saying, he raised his tall hat with old-time courtesy, repeated his bows to the brothers severally, and replaced his beaver with such exactitude that not a hair of his nicely-brushed wig was disarranged.
"Congratulations upon what? Upon being Peter and Jacob Van Deust?" demanded Peter, who began to look upon his visitor as a probably harmless lunatic.