WAYFARING HOME 277

working in the yard. “Itis my father, Cicely, ” he laughed.
“Father!” he cried, and hurried in the lane.

Simon Attwood straightened up and looked across the
fence. His arms were held a little out, and his hands
hung down with bits of moist earth clinging to them.
His brows were darker than a year before, and his hair
was grown more gray; his back, too, stooped. “Art thou
a-calling me?” he asked.

Nick laughed. “Why, father, do ye na know me?” he
eried out. “’T is I—t is Nick—come home!”

Two steps the stern old tanner took—two steps to the
latchet-gate. Not one word did he speak ; but he set his
hand to the latchet-gate and closed it in Nick’s face.