"Thomson," she called, "there is a gentleman here as wants to see you." "Bes there, now?" said Thomson, and rubbed his hands on his smock. "Never mind your hands," she called. Thomson scraped his heavy way into the kitchen, and blinked at the visitor. "Howde, sir," he remarked, affably. "How are you, Thomson? Glad to see you again," said Hemming, extending his hand. The old gardener gave back a step, with a slight cry and an uptossing of gnarled hands. He recovered himself with an effort. "God bless me, it's Master Herbert," he exclaimed. "Do you know, missus, I thought it was the doctor askin' how I was," he continued, turning to his wife, "but the master was a more sizable man,--yes, an' redder i' the face." "Ay," replied Mrs. Thomson, "but hansome is as hansome does--meanin' nothin' disrespectful about the old master, God bless his memory, dear man,--and Master Bert is a fine appearin' young gentleman." The gaffer nodded. "The lasses wud believe you, missus," he said. "What lasses do you mean?" inquired the old woman, sharply. "Where's the lass i' this village fit to believe anything about one o' the queen's officers--tell me that." "Ay, I was sayin' nothin'," replied Thomson. The woman looked quizzically at Hemming. "Like enough there's a young lady in Lunnon," she suggested. "There is no young lady--anywhere," said Hemming, "and I'm no longer in the army. I'm at another trade now." "Trade?" exclaimed Thomson. "Well, hardly that," laughed Hemming. "I write for a living." Mrs. Thomson nodded with satisfaction. "The queen's son-in-law wrote a book," she said. "I hardly do that kind," said Hemming, uneasily. "I vum you don't, sir," cried the man, whacking the table, "not if the missus means the book she read to me out of, oncet." Hemming was pleased with the old man's shrewdness, though Mrs. Thomson was shocked at his insinuations.