“It’s a long time since you was here last, sir,” he said, but without a smile.

Did he mean a reproach?  If so, I was more glad of that reproach than I would have been of the warmest welcome, even from Old Rogers.  The fact was that, having a good deal to attend to besides, and willing at the same time to let the man feel that he was in no danger of being bored by my visits, I had not made use even of my reserve in the shape of a visit to his father.

“Well,” I answered, “I wanted to know something about all my people, before I paid a second visit to any of them.”

“All right, sir.  Don’t suppose I meant to complain.  Only to let you know you was welcome, sir.”

“I’ve just come from my first visit to Oldcastle Hall.  And, to tell the truth, for I don’t like pretences, my visit to-day was not so much to you as to your father, whom, perhaps, I ought to have called upon before, only I was afraid of seeming to intrude upon you, seeing we don’t exactly think the same way about some things,” I added—­with a smile, I know, which was none the less genuine that I remember it yet.

And what makes me remember it yet?  It is the smile that lighted up his face in response to mine.  For it was more than I looked for.  And his answer helped to fix the smile in my memory.

“You made me think, sir, that perhaps, after all, we were much of the same way of thinking, only perhaps you was a long way ahead of me.”

Now the man was not right in saying that we were much of the same way of thinking; for our opinions could hardly do more than come within sight of each other; but what he meant was right enough.  For I was certain, from the first, that the man had a regard for the downright, honest way of things, and I hoped that I too had such a regard.  How much of selfishness and of pride in one’s own judgment might be mixed up with it, both in his case and mine, I had been too often taken in—­by myself, I mean—­to be at all careful to discriminate, provided there was a proportion of real honesty along with it, which, I felt sure, would ultimately eliminate the other.  For in the moral nest, it is not as with the sparrow and the cuckoo.  The right, the original inhabitant is the stronger; and, however unlikely at any given point in the history it may be, the sparrow will grow strong enough to heave the intruding cuckoo overboard.  So I was pleased that the man should do me the honour of thinking I was right as far as he could see, which is the greatest honour one man can do another; for it is setting him on his own steed, as the eastern tyrants used to do.  And I was delighted to think that the road lay open for further and more real communion between us in time to come.

“Well,” I answered, “I think we shall understand each other perfectly before long.  But now I must see your father, if it is convenient and agreeable.”