His meaning was rather obscure, but possibly the Captain followed it although he did cut him short by saying, “I should never have expected it of you; if any one had told me that you, one of us, would take to this sort of thing, I would not have believed it.  I mean, if they had told me in the old days, before things were changed and broken up, when we were still alive and things moved at a pace—­when a man knew if he were alive or dead and whether it was night or morning.”

“Yes, yes,” Johnny said, but not altogether as if he regretted the passing of those golden days; “things were different then; we didn’t think of it then.”

“Teaching in the Sunday school?” the Captain asked.  “Not quite!  And if we had, we shouldn’t have thought of coming to it even when we had got old and foolish.”

Johnny looked uncomfortable and unhappy; then a bright idea occurred to him.  “There wasn’t a Sunday school there,” he said.  “You remember the hill station?”

Just then Julia called from the house, “Father, I believe we might have a dish of turnip tops if you would get them.  Johnny, you will be late if you don’t start soon.”

Johnny promptly started, and the Captain, less promptly, sauntered away to find a basket for the turnip tops, muttering the while something about people whose religion took the form of going out and leaving others to do the work.

But by the time Joost Van Heigen arrived, the Captain was quite amiable again.  He had had a quiet morning with nothing to do after the turnip tops were brought in and the knives cleaned, and Johnny had had a long tiring walk home from church in a hot sun and a high wind, which Captain Polkington felt to be a just dispensation of Providence to reward those who stopped at home and cleaned knives.  Joost arrived not long after Mr. Gillat; Julia heard the gate click as she was taking the meat from before the fire.

“Who is that, Johnny?” she asked.

Johnny, who had just come down-stairs after taking off his Sunday coat, looked out of the window.

“I don’t know,” he said; “a young man.”

Julia, having deposited the joint on the dish, went to the kitchen door.  “Put the meat where it will keep hot,” she said to Johnny; “I expect it’s some one who thinks the last people live here still; fortunately there is enough dinner.”

She pushed open the unlatched door and saw the visitor going round to the front.  “Joost!” she exclaimed.  “Why, Joost, is it really you?”

She ran down the garden path after him and he, turning just before he reached the front door, stopped.

“Good-morning, miss,” he said solemnly, removing his hat with a sweep.  “I hope I see you well.  I do not inconvenience you—­you are perhaps engaged?”

“Come in,” Julia answered; “I am glad to see you!”

There was no mistaking the sincerity of her tone; Joost’s solemn face relaxed a little.  “You are not occupied?” he said; “I do not disturb you?”