IN THE TWINKLING OF AN EYE 223

They all looked up, and the moment they spied that
laughing face and cloak of Holland cloth, raised a shout
of “What, there!” “Well met!” “Come in, Ben.”
“Where hast thou tarried so long?” and the like; while
the waiter ran to open the gate and let the stranger in.

A quiet man with a little chestnut-colored beard and
hazel eyes, which lit up quickly at sight of the stranger
over the hedge, arose from his place by the table and went
down the path with hands outstretched to greet him.

“Welcome, welcome, hurly-burly Ben,” said he. “ We’ve
missed thee from the feast. Art well? And what’s the
good word?”

“ Ah, Will, thou gentle rogue!” the other cried, catching
the hands of the quiet man and holding him off while he
looked at him there. ‘“ How thou stealest one’s heart with
the glance of thine eye! I was going to give thee a piece
of my mind; but a plague, old heart ! who could chide thee
to thy face? Am I well? Ay, exceedingly well. And
the news? Jove! the best that was baked at the Queen’s
to-day, and straight from the oven-door! The thing is
done—huff, puff, and away we go! But come on—this
needs telling to the rest.”

They came up the path together, the big man crunching
the mussel-shells beneath his sturdy tread, and so into the
circle of yellow light that came down from the lantern
among the apple-leaves, the big man with his arm around
the quiet man’s shoulders, holding his hand; for the quiet
man was not so large as the other, although withal no little
man himself, and very well built and straight.