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."