sew up.  Wherever he went, the lively, easy way of him made him welcome.  He lived here, there, and everywhere; his address (as he used to put it himself) being “Post Office, Europe—­to be left till called for.”  Twice over, he made up his mind to come back to England and see us; and twice over (saving your presence), some unmentionable woman stood in the way and stopped him.  His third attempt succeeded, as you know already from what my lady told me.  On Thursday the twenty-fifth of May, we were to see for the first time what our nice boy had grown to be as a man.  He came of good blood; he had a high courage; and he was five-and-twenty years of age, by our reckoning.  Now you know as much of Mr. Franklin Blake as I did—­before Mr. Franklin Blake came down to our house.

The Thursday was as fine a summer’s day as ever you saw:  and my lady and Miss Rachel (not expecting Mr. Franklin till dinner-time) drove out to lunch with some friends in the neighbourhood.

When they were gone, I went and had a look at the bedroom which had been got ready for our guest, and saw that all was straight.  Then, being butler in my lady’s establishment, as well as steward (at my own particular request, mind, and because it vexed me to see anybody but myself in possession of the key of the late Sir John’s cellar)—­then, I say, I fetched up some of our famous Latour claret, and set it in the warm summer air to take off the chill before dinner.  Concluding to set myself in the warm summer air next—­seeing that what is good for old claret is equally good for old age—­I took up my beehive chair to go out into the back court, when I was stopped by hearing a sound like the soft beating of a drum, on the terrace in front of my lady’s residence.

Going round to the terrace, I found three mahogany-coloured Indians, in white linen frocks and trousers, looking up at the house.

The Indians, as I saw on looking closer, had small hand-drums slung in front of them.  Behind them stood a little delicate-looking light-haired English boy carrying a bag.  I judged the fellows to be strolling conjurors, and the boy with the bag to be carrying the tools of their trade.  One of the three, who spoke English and who exhibited, I must own, the most elegant manners, presently informed me that my judgment was right.  He requested permission to show his tricks in the presence of the lady of the house.

Now I am not a sour old man.  I am generally all for amusement, and the last person in the world to distrust another person because he happens to be a few shades darker than myself.  But the best of us have our weaknesses—­and my weakness, when I know a family plate-basket to be out on a pantry-table, is to be instantly reminded of that basket by the sight of a strolling stranger whose manners are superior to my own.  I accordingly informed the Indian that the lady of the house was out; and I warned him and his party off the premises.  He made me a beautiful bow in return; and he and his party went off the premises.  On my side, I returned to my beehive chair, and set myself down on the sunny side of the court, and fell (if the truth must be owned), not exactly into a sleep, but into the next best thing to it.