“That’s magnificent.  He didn’t tell me that, the rascal.  Like you, I have nothing before but ‘All well.’”

“Do tell me what he wired you this time.  I was afraid when we got your telegram that something had happened.”

“Not a bit of it.  He expects to be here at eleven.”

“How delightful!  I am quite proud of him, really.  You can come and see Mother now.  I wanted to speak to you first because she knows nothing about Charley’s journey.  I thought it best to keep it from her until I knew about Father, and having kept it so long I decided to leave it for Charley to tell himself.  I don’t know whether I can manage it.  I’m so excited I could scream.”

“Don’t mind me.  Ah!  How d’ye do, Mrs. Smith?” The lady had just entered.  “You’ll forgive my presumption?”

“Not at all—­that is, an old friend like you doesn’t presume, Mr. Barracombe.  Have you heard from Charley lately?”

“A word or two.  He’s coming home to-night.  He asked me to meet him here.”

“How vexing!  I mean, I wish I had known before; I can tell you what I couldn’t tell a stranger:  we’ve fish for only three.  But I am glad the dear boy will have a few hours at home before he rejoins his ship.  It was very annoying that his leave should be spoilt.  I am sure his captain works him too hard.”

“I don’t fancy he’ll consider his leave spoilt.  But don’t be concerned about the fish; he won’t be home till eleven.”

“My bed-time is ten; I haven’t made an exception for years; but I shall certainly sit up for him; if you’ll play cribbage with me to keep me awake.  We dine at eight.  You know your room?”

A servant entered.

“Please, m’m, there’s a man asking for Mr. Charley.”

“Who is he, Betts?”

“A stranger to me, m’m.  His name is Barton, and he’s a farmer sort of man.”

“Did you tell him that Mr. Charley is not at home?”

“Yes, m’m.  He said he’d wait.”

“Tell him that Mr. Charley will not be in till eleven.  He had better call again.”

The servant returned in a minute or two.

“Please, m’m, the man says he don’t mind waiting.  He has come miles special to see Mr. Charley, and he says he won’t be put off.  He seems a bit put out, m’m.”

“I’ll go and see him, Mother,” said Kate.  “It may be important.”

“Perhaps Mr. Barracombe will go with you, my dear.  The man may be intoxicated.”

Kate and Mr. Barracombe proceeded to the hall, where stood a man in rough country garments, his calves encased in brown leather leggins.

“You wish to see my brother?” said Kate.

“I do so, if Mr. Charles Thusidger Smith, R.N., be your brother, miss.  He give me this card wi’s name prented on it, and vowed and declared he’d send me a cheque as soon as he got my bill for the damage he done.  ’Tis a week come Saturday since I sent my bill, and daze me if I’ve got a cheque or even had any answer.  That’s not fair dealing; it bean’t proper; that’s what I say.”