In vain we looked, about expecting to see some old acquaintances, but all the faces we set eyes on were strange. No wonder, considering how long we had been away, while certainly no one would have recognised us. It was not quite an easy matter to find our way to Mr Gray’s house, and we had to stop every now and then while Jim and I consulted which turning to take, for we were ashamed to ask any one. At last, just as we got near it, we saw an old gentleman in a Quaker’s dress coming along the road. He just glanced at us, as other people had done; when I, looking hard at him, felt sure he must be Mr Gray. I nudged Jim’s shoulder.
“Yes, it’s he, I’m sure,” whispered Jim.
So I went up to him, and pulling off my hat said—
“Beg pardon, sir; may I be so bold as to ask if you are Mr Gray?”
“Gray is my name, young man,” he answered, looking somewhat surprised, “Who art thou?”
“Peter Trawl, sir; and this Jim Pulley, and here is my brother Jack.”
If the kind Quaker had ever been addicted to uttering exclamations of surprise he would have done so on this occasion, I suspect, judging from the expression of astonishment which came over his countenance.
“Peter Trawl! James Pulley! Why, it was reported that those two lads were lost in the North Sea years ago,” he said.
“We are the lads, sir, notwithstanding,” I answered; and I briefly narrated to him how we had been picked up by the Intrepid and carried off to the Pacific, and how I had there found my brother Jack.
“Verily, this is good news, and will cheer the heart of thy young sister, who has never ceased to believe that thou wouldst turn up again some day or other,” he said.