"Didn't much s'pose you would—not expectin'. It's hard on twenty-seven years since you and me met. And you wasn't over-much perlite to me then, neither. You and your missus didn't think I was fit for your pretty Molly. Nor I wasn't. But all the same—" The farmer fell back a step. "Yes—I'm him. You know me now." "Phil—Morris!" "Same!" He held out his hand. "But—but I say!—we thought you'd been dead, years and years ago." "Well, I wasn't—that's all. I'm alive now." "Molly said you'd been drowned—out in South America." "Told that, was she? Wonder however she heard! Did she mind?" He showed interest. "Why, of course she minded." "Glad to hear it. Didn't think she'd have cared. No—I didn't." "And you're here—alive! All these years after." "I'm alive. I aint much more. And I've got about what's on my back—and nothin' beyond. I can tell 'ee that." Paine hesitated. Was this unlooked-for return good for Molly—for the girls? A penniless failure, for husband and father! He had not liked Morris in the past, and he had strenuously opposed the engagement; but Molly had been wilful, and had taken her own way in this as in other matters. He liked the man even less now. Lines in the face told of a life of dissipation. Still—here he was! "To think that Molly isn't a widow, after all! And hasn't been, all this while." Morris stared in his turn. "Dunno what you're after now. She married—of course." "No, no,—never." "Eh? Then she must ha' cared a lot more for me than ever I thought." "Of course she did. Molly ain't one of the talkin' sort. Leastways, she ain't now. Different when she was a girl. But of course she cared. Wouldn't be natural-like, if she didn't." "And never married, after all. I wonder what became of the chap that was after her. And she's kep' her own name. Whatever did you mean, farmer,—talkin' as if you'd thought she was a widow?" They were at cross purposes still. Farmer Paine turned towards the house. He had not taken in the sense of the last words. "Come along. Come in," he said heartily. "She'll give you a welcome, Molly will. It'll startle her, maybe, just at first,—but you'll have a welcome, man. Care. Of course she cared." With great strides the farmer reached the door, opened it, and called in lusty tones— "Molly! Molly! Here's one come back, that we thought never to see again." A voice within him murmured—"And didn't wish to see again!"— but he put that down. "Now, don't you be taken aback," he called energetically. "Where's Jane? Where's Winnie? Here's your father, girls,—come back from the grave, as one may say. Never drowned at all, Molly. It's all a mistake." "Their father! No, no!" Morris tried to interpose, as the nature of the farmer's error dawned upon him. But Mr. Paine, all the more because of that protesting voice within, pressed forward, talking eagerly—