The Broad Highway

"W'ich, me wishin' no offense, an' no one objectin'--I did," began

the Apology, perspiring profusely as usual, "but I takes the

liberty to say as it were a spade, an' not a gate--leastways--"

"But you didn't see no signs o' Jarge, did ye?" demanded Old

Amos, "as ye might say, neither 'ide nor 'air of 'im--speak up,

James Dutton."

"W'ich, since you axes me, I makes so bold as to answer--an' very

glad I'm sure--no; though as to 'ide an' 'air, I aren't wishin'

to swear to, me not bein' near enough--w'ich could only be

expected, an' very much obliged, I'm sure."

"Ye see, Gaffer," pursued Amos, "if you didn't bring Jarge back

wi' you--w'ich you said you would--the question we axes is--wheer

be Jarge?"

"Ah!--wheer?" nodded Job gloomily. Here the Ancient was

evidently at a loss, to cover which, he took a vast pinch of

snuff.

"'Ow be we to know as 'e bean't pinin' away in a dungeon cell wi'

irons on 'is legs, an' strapped in a straitjacket an--"

Old Amos stopped, open-mouthed and staring, for out from the

gloom of the smithy issued Black George himself, with Prue upon

his arm. The Ancient stared also, but, dissembling his vast

surprise, he dealt the lid of his snuffbox two loud, triumphant

knocks.

"Peter," said he, rising stiffly, "Peter, lad, I were beginnin'

to think as Jarge were never comin' in to breakfus' at all. I've

waited and waited till I be so ravenous as a lion an' tiger--but

'ere 'e be at last, Peter, 'ere 'e be, so let's go in an' eat

summ'at." Saying which, he turned his back upon his discomfited

tormentors, and led me into the kitchen of the inn.

And there were the white-capped maids setting forth such a

breakfast as only such a kitchen could produce. And, presently,

there was Prue herself, with George hanging back, something

shamefaced, till the Ancient had hobbled forward to give him

welcome. And there was honest Simon, all wonderment and hearty

greeting. And (last, but by no means least) there were the

battered cutlasses, the brass jack, and the glittering pots and

pans--glittering and gleaming and twinkling a greeting likewise,

and with all their might.

Ah! but they little guessed why Prue's eyes were so shy and

sweet, or why the color came and went in her pretty cheeks;

little they guessed why, this golden-haired giant trod so

lightly, and held his tall head so very high--little they dreamed

of the situation as yet; had they done so, surely they must, one

and all, have fallen upon that curly, golden head and buried it

beneath their gleaming, glittering, twinkling jealousy.