The Amateur Gentleman by Farnol, Jeffery, 1878-1952

CHAPTER LXXVIII

WHICH TELLS HOW BARNABAS CAME HOME AGAIN, AND HOW HE AWOKE FOR THE 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."

"Looks a bit palish, though, John!" said Natty Bell, shaking his head, "but that's only nat'ral, arter all, yes--a bit palish, p'r'aps, but, man Jack--what o' that?"

"And a bit thinnish, Natty Bell," replied John, "but Lord! a few days and we'll have him as right as--as ever, yes, quite right, and there y' are, Natty Bell!"

"P'r'aps you might be wishful to tell him, John, as you've had the old 'Hound' brightened up a bit?"