“Could I come in out of the rain?” Stoner began, but the old man interrupted him.
“Come in, Master Tom. I knew you would come back one of these days.”
Stoner lurched across the threshold and stood staring uncomprehendingly at the other.
“Sit down while I put you out a bit of supper,” said the old man with quavering eagerness. Stoner’s legs gave way from very weariness, and he sank inertly into the arm-chair that had been pushed up to him. In another minute he was devouring the cold meat, cheese, and bread, that had been placed on the table at his side.
“You’m little changed these four years,” went on the old man, in a voice that sounded to Stoner as something in a dream, far away and inconsequent; “but you’ll find us a deal changed, you will. There’s no one about the place same as when
