The journey of nearly seventy miles was not likely to be pleasant. The stage-coaches of those days were large and clumsy structures, with hard springs. The inside passengers were jolted and jostled; the outside passengers had no proper seats, but found what sitting room they could among the packages and bundles. On this morning, there was only one other passenger on the roof of the coach, a stout broad-faced man dressed in brown clothes much like Sherebiah’s. He had retained his seat during the scene of farewell, and sat solemnly munching a thick sausage, scanning the crowd out of shrewd little twinkling eyes that seemed a size too small for the other features. When his sausage was finished, he filled a huge pipe and sat puffing in stolid silence. For some time after the coach started, no word was spoken by the three passengers. Harry was wrapt in his thoughts, brooding over the past, dreaming about the future. Sherebiah had lit his pipe as soon as he was settled, and smoked on contentedly, stealing a glance every now and then at the broad figure separated from him by a large travelling trunk. He seemed to find some amusement in these occasional peeps at his neighbour, who by and by returned his glance. "Mizzly mornen," said Sherebiah, with a nod. "Zo," grunted the other. His eyes were resting on Sherebiah’s pipe. "Tobacco be a great comfort," said the latter, noting the look. "Master Harry there, he bean’t come to ’t yet; true, ’tis not for babes an’ sucklens; but I took to ’bacca when Susan wouldn’t take me, and ’tis better nor any wife." "Where you get dat pipe?" asked the stranger, in a slow pleasant voice with a foreign accent. "This pipe! Why, over in Amesbury; see, ’tis marked wi’ the gauntlet, sure token of a Amesbury pipe, an’ there’s no better in the land. Why med ’ee axe such a feelen question, now?" "Once I zaw a pipe like it, wid de mark on it—de gauntlet, you zay." "Oh! I say, master, what part o’ the land med ’ee hail from? Your tongue makes me think ’ee med be a Dutchman, though I wouldn’t say so to your face." The man looked at his interrogator without replying. He stuffed the tobacco down into his pipe with a fat forefinger which exactly fitted the bowl. "You know Amsterdam, my vrient?" he said. "Ha’ been there, mynheer; so ’tis Amsterdam you hail from! Well, I ha’ been in wuss places. Ay, ha’ seed summat o’ the world, I have, and I knowed ’ee by your cut for a Dutchman." There was silence again for a space. Both the men sat smoking, heedless of all things around them. They finished their pipes at the same moment, and, moved by a mutual impulse, each handed his pouch to the other. "Virginia," said Sherebiah laconically. "Ah! Barbados," returned the other. "My name, Jan Grootz."