David the Smith caught the morning coach on the Tuesday, though he had all but missed it through remembering a bit of smithy-work that must be finished off before he left for Canada. That was David’s way; he would not leave Garth owing the smallest debt to any man, and promises of work to be finished to the hour were always counted debts of honour by David. There was a little crowd about the Elm Tree Inn, and up above the folks’ heads he could see Will, the mail-driver, sitting high on the box seat of the coach, and showing signs of good-humoured impatience to be off. “Hi, David!” called the driver, catching sight of the other a hundred yards away. “Ye be i’ no hurry to leave Garth, but Will the Driver is. I carry the Queen’s letters, and Her Majesty--God bless her--will want to know why I’m late wi’ her post-bag.” David was sorrowful enough, but he did not mean to let Garth know it. He held his head high, and did not quicken his steady forward stride. “Oh, the Queen willun’t mind, Will,” he answered. “Just tell her it was David the Smith who kept her waiting, and she’ll understand.” A shade of perplexity crossed his face as he neared the knot of folk who pressed round the coach. There were apt to be idlers about the inn-front at this hour, since the passing of the mail was the big adventure of each day’s tranquil round; but this morning there was clearly something unusual on foot. “What is it?” asked David. “Is there a wedding or a fairing Shepston way, and me not heard of it?” And then it was brought home to him that he was the centre of the crowd, and he flushed like a great, shy lad to find himself a hero. Their welcome was so spontaneous, their affection so simple and so boisterous, that David’s modesty was shocked. David had been accustomed to do his work in Garth, to walk up and down its street with the proud and ready courtesy of a man whose hands are strong and whose heart is clean; and the village had accepted his presence as it accepted the sun when it shone, or the rain when it watered their growing crops. It was only now, at the parting of the ways, that Garth fully understood what it was losing. Will the Driver gave the folk little time to show their feelings. He had kept the seat beside him on the box for David--if seat it could be called, seeing that most of it was littered by mail-bags picked up from half-a-dozen scattered villages--and he motioned to David to clamber up by the fore-wheel. The crowd would not allow it, though, and lifted him with a “Heave ho! All together, lads!” And David was thankful that the mail-bags broke his fall a little as he was hoisted into his seat.