“Where didst see him?” asked Seth, as they walked on into the adjoining field.  “I can’t catch sight of him anywhere.”

“Between the hedges by the roadside,” said Dinah.  “I saw his hat and his shoulder.  There he is again.”

“Trust thee for catching sight of him if he’s anywhere to be seen,” said Seth, smiling.  “Thee’t like poor mother used to be.  She was always on the look out for Adam, and could see him sooner than other folks, for all her eyes got dim.”

“He’s been longer than he expected,” said Dinah, taking Arthur’s watch from a small side pocket and looking at it; “it’s nigh upon seven now.”

“Aye, they’d have a deal to say to one another,” said Seth, “and the meeting ’ud touch ’em both pretty closish.  Why, it’s getting on towards eight years since they parted.”

“Yes,” said Dinah, “Adam was greatly moved this morning at the thought of the change he should see in the poor young man, from the sickness he has undergone, as well as the years which have changed us all.  And the death of the poor wanderer, when she was coming back to us, has been sorrow upon sorrow.”

“See, Addy,” said Seth, lowering the young one to his arm now and pointing, “there’s Father coming—­at the far stile.”

Dinah hastened her steps, and little Lisbeth ran on at her utmost speed till she clasped her father’s leg.  Adam patted her head and lifted her up to kiss her, but Dinah could see the marks of agitation on his face as she approached him, and he put her arm within his in silence.

“Well, youngster, must I take you?” he said, trying to smile, when Addy stretched out his arms—­ready, with the usual baseness of infancy, to give up his Uncle Seth at once, now there was some rarer patronage at hand.

“It’s cut me a good deal, Dinah,” Adam said at last, when they were walking on.

“Didst find him greatly altered?” said Dinah.

“Why, he’s altered and yet not altered.  I should ha’ known him anywhere.  But his colour’s changed, and he looks sadly.  However, the doctors say he’ll soon be set right in his own country air.  He’s all sound in th’ inside; it’s only the fever shattered him so.  But he speaks just the same, and smiles at me just as he did when he was a lad.  It’s wonderful how he’s always had just the same sort o’ look when he smiles.”

“I’ve never seen him smile, poor young man,” said Dinah.

“But thee wilt see him smile, to-morrow,” said Adam.  “He asked after thee the first thing when he began to come round, and we could talk to one another.  ‘I hope she isn’t altered,’ he said, ’I remember her face so well.’  I told him ‘no,’” Adam continued, looking fondly at the eyes that were turned towards his, “only a bit plumper, as thee’dst a right to be after seven year.  ‘I may come and see her to-morrow, mayn’t I?’ he said; ‘I long to tell her how I’ve thought of her all these years.’”

“Didst tell him I’d always used the watch?” said Dinah.