"Oh, Master Antony," she cried excitedly, "whoever do you think it is? I hope it don't mean trouble. Some one from the country." "Not Blakeford?" I exclaimed, with all my budding manhood seeming to be frozen down on the instant, and my boyish dread ready to return. "No, my dear, not old Blakeford," she said; "but that other old Mr Rowle." "Old Mr Rowle!" I cried excitedly, as, like a flash, all my former intercourse with him darted back--the day when he came and took possession of our dear home; our meals together; the bit of dinner in the summer-house; and his kindly help with money and advice when I was about to run away. Why, I felt that it was to him that I owed all my success in life, and my heart smote me as I thought of my ingratitude, and how I seemed to have forgotten him since I had become so prosperous and well-to-do. "Yes," said Mary, "old Mr Rowle. He's standing at the door, my dear; he said he was so shabby he wouldn't come in." Thank God, I was only a boy still, and full of youthful freshness and enthusiasm! I forgot all my dandyism and dress, everything, in the excitement of seeing the old man again; and almost before Mary had done speaking, I was bounding down the stairs to rush through the big hall and catch hold of the little old man standing on the steps. He seemed to have shrunk; or was it that I had sprung up from the little boy into a young man? I could not tell then. I did not want to tell then; all I knew was that the childish tears were making my eyes dim, that there was a hot choking sensation in my throat, and that I dragged the old man in. We had a struggle over every mat, where he would stop to rub his shoes. I could not speak, only keep on shaking both his hands; and I seemed to keep on shaking them till I had him thrust down by the fire in the easy-chair. "Why, young 'un," he said at last, "how you have grown!" "Why, Mr Rowle," I said, as soon as I could speak, "I am--I am glad to see you." "Are you--are you, young 'un?" he said, getting up out of his chair, picking his hat off the floor, where he had set it down, and putting it on again, while in a dreamy way he ran his eye all over the room, making a mental inventory of the furniture, just as I remembered him to have done of old. He seemed to be very little, and yellow, and withered, and he was very shabbily dressed, too; but I realised the fact that he was not much altered, as he fixed his eyes once more on me, and repeated: "Why, young 'un, how you have grow'd!" "Have I, Mr Rowle?" I said, laughing through my weak tears; for his coming seemed to have brought back so much of the past. "Wonderful!" he said. "I shouldn't have know'd you, that I shouldn't. Why, you've grow'd into quite a fine gentleman, that you have, and you used to be about as high as sixpen'orth o' ha'pence." "I was a little fellow," I said, laughing.