“We han’t gone riding this morning, my son,” says I. “But what’s that coming up the fir-walk?” “Oh, ’tis a coach,” says Bob, “as fine as ours but not so large, and splashed all over with mud. There’s an old gentleman inside, that shook his stick at me when he saw me run, and a servant like Loll Duss riding behind.” “Is this another messenger of disaster?” says I to Dorothy. “Or a messenger of hope?” says she. “Do you know the gentleman, Bob?” “No, madam, but I heard him call to Hal and bid him take a seat in the coach with Mr Tilney, since he desired to speak with him. ‘Are you the son of my old friend Ned Carlyon, my little man?’ says he, and Hal says he was.” Dorothy and I looked one at the other, for the same thought was come in both our minds, but seemed too good to be true. But now the coach had reached the door, and there come into the parlour Mr Tilney, the boys’ governor, a very ingenious young man and one of excellent parts, that had passed through his studies at the University with infinite credit to himself, and was glad to hold this respectable place in my family until he should have some hopes of preferment in the Church offered him. “Sir,” says he, “there’s a gentleman without that says he is a friend of your honour’s, but don’t desire to send in his name. I have bid Master Harry entertain him until I could find you.” Still wondering whether our thought might be right, Dorothy and I went out into the hall in time to see our son Harry assisting out of the coach with great civility an ancient gentleman with a great white peruke and a heavy gold-headed cane, an Indian servant standing beside the coach-door with his master’s cloak. Seeing us, the old gentleman held out both his hands with a merry laugh. “Ha, Ned!” says he, “here I am, and do hope you are but half so pleased to behold me as I to meet you again. _Love and lordship like no fellowship_, ’tis said, but methought you would find room for your old friend for a day or two. Pray, is this my fair friend Mrs Carlyon?--my friend, I say, though I never yet saw her, from my hearing so much touching her. Madam, I could well believe, but for the presence of these young gentlemen, that you were married but a year at most. And pray, where is my godson? Is he that naughty rogue I saw run on but now when his governor called him back? Fie, lad, fie! Did you never hear that _He that will not be rul’d by his owne dame, must bee ruled by his step-dame_? this signifying that a harder discipline must be used where a milder fails. Nay, Ned, my dear lad, I an’t Methusalem!”