The Amateur Gentleman

Fourth Time Evening was falling as Barnabas came to the top of the hill and,

drawing rein, paused there to look down at a certain inn. It was a

somewhat small and solitary inn, an ancient inn with many lattices,

and with pointed gables whose plaster and cross-beams were just now

mellowed by the rosy glow of sunset.

Surely, surely, nowhere in all broad England could there be found

just such another inn as this, or one more full of that reposeful

dignity which only age can bestow. And in all its length of days

never had "The Coursing Hound" looked more restful, more comfortable

and home-like than upon this early Autumn evening. And remembering

those two gray-headed men, who waited within its hospitable walls,

eager to give him welcome, who might, perchance, even now be talking

of him one to another, what wonder if, as our Barnabas gazed down at

it from worn steps to crooked chimney, from the faded sign before

the door of it to the fragrant rick-yard that lay behind it, what

wonder (I say) if it grew blurred all at once, and misty, or that

Barnabas should sigh so deeply and sit with drooping head, while the

old inn blinked its casements innocently in the level rays of the

setting sun, like the simple, guileless old inn that it was!

But lo! all at once forth from its weather-beaten porch issued two

figures, clean-limbed, athletic figures these--men who strode strong

and free, with shoulders squared and upright of back, though the

head of each was grizzled with years. On they came, shoulder to

shoulder, the one a tall man with a mighty girth of chest, the other

slighter, shorter, but quick and active as a cat, and who already

had gained a good yard upon his companion; whereupon the big man

lengthened his stride; whereupon the slighter man broke into a trot;

whereupon the big man fell into a run; whereupon the slighter man

followed suit and thus, neck and neck, they raced together up the

hill and so, presently reaching the summit, very little breathed

considering, pulled up on either side of Barnabas.

"Father!" he cried, "Natty Bell! Oh, it's good to be home again!"

"Man Jack, it's all right!" said Natty Bell, nodding to John, but

shaking away at the hand Barnabas had reached down to him, "our

lad's come back to us, yes, Barnabas has come home, John, and--it

is our Barnabas--London and Fashion aren't spiled him, John,

thank God!"

"No," answered John ponderously, "no, Natty Bell, London aren't

spiled him, and--why, Barnabas, I'm glad to see ye, lad--yes,

I'm--glad, and--and--why, there y'are, Barnabas."