, "I don't remember."

"We were wonderin'," said the long, thin man slowly, "when you was
comin' down. Not that you'd remember faces--that's not to be
expected--especially in foreign parts which is confusing and difficult
for a man--but I'm Bill Tregarvis what have had you out fishin' many's
the time--not that you'd remember faces," he said again, looking a
little timidly at him.

But he did! Harry remembered him perfectly! Bill Tregarvis! Why, of
course--many was the time they had seen life together--he had had a
wife and two boys.

Harry wrung his hand and laughed.

"Remember, Bill! Why, of course! It was only for a moment. I had got
the face all right but not the name. Yes, I have, as a matter of fact,
come before, but there were things that have made it difficult at
first, and of course there was a lot to do up there. But it's good to
be down here! The other place is changed; I had been a bit
disappointed, but here it is just the same--the same old lights and
smells and sea, and the same old friends----"

"Yer think that?" Tregarvis looked at him. "Because we'd been fearing
that all your travelling and sight-seeing might have harmed you--that
you'd be thinking a bit like the folk up-along with their cars and gas
and filth. Aye, it's a changed world up there, Mr. Harry; but
down-along there's no difference. It's the sea keeps us steady."

And then they talked about the old adventurous days when Harry had been
eighteen and the world had been a very wonderful place: the herring
fishing, the bathing, the adventures on the moor, the tales at night by
candlelight, the fun of it all. The room began to fill, and one after
another men came forward and claimed friendship on the score of old
days and perils shared. They received him quite simply--he was "Mr.
Harry," but still one of themselves, taking his place with them,
telling tales and hearing them in return.

There were nine or ten of them, and a wild company they made, crowding
round the fire, with the flames leaping and flinging gigantic shadows
on the walls. The landlord, a short, ruddy-faced man with white hair
and a merry twinkle of the eye, was one of the best men that Harry had
ever known.

He was a man whose modesty was only equalled by his charity; a man of
great humour, wide knowledge of the most varied subjects, and above all
a passionate faith in the country of his birth, Cornwall. He was, like
most Cornishmen, superstitious, but his