horse and ate his dinner. Abel Walters,
coming in after with a pint of port to his order, found the Emigrant
with a great packet of sugared almonds and angelica spread open beside
his cheese.

"I suppose, sir," said Mr. Walters, eyeing the heap, "you've travelled a
great deal in foreign parts."

Two days passed. The Emigrant visited the cemetery, inspected his
parents' tombstone, and found about it a number of tombstones belonging
to people whose faces he had not hitherto missed. But after his
experiment upon Elizabeth Best he had not declared himself a second
time. Indeed, his humour by this had turned sour, and his mind was made
up that, if no one recognised him spontaneously, he would leave his
native town as quietly as he had come--would go back without revealing
himself to a soul. It would be unfair to say that he felt aggrieved;
but he certainly dismissed a project, with which he had often played in
South Africa, of erecting a public drinking-fountain on Mount Folly, as
the citizens of Tregarrick call the slope in front of the County Assize
Hall.

The third day was Sunday, and he went to church in the morning.
The Vicar who preached was a stranger to him; but in the sidesman who
came down the aisle afterwards with the offertory-plate he recognised
one Billy Smithers, who had been a crony of his some twenty years ago;
who had, in fact, helped him more than once to milk Retallack's
Alderney. He felt in his pocket and dropped a sovereign into the plate.
The sidesman halted and rubbed his chin.

"Han't you made a mistake?" he asked in a stage whisper.

The Emigrant waved his hand in rather a lordly manner, and William
Smithers, sidesman, proceeded down the aisle, wondering, but not
suspecting.

The Vicar recited the prayer for the whole state of Christ's Church
militant here on earth, and the Emigrant joined the crowd trooping out
by the western door.

But in the press just outside the door two hands suddenly seized his
right hand and shook it violently. He turned and faced--Dicky Loony.

"Me know, eh? Pete--Mas'r Pete!" The idiot bent over his hand and
mumbled it with his wry mouth, then shook it again, peering up in his
face. "Eh? Pete--Pete. Yes. All right!"

The Emigrant looked down on this poor creature at whom he had flung
scores of stones, but never a kind word. And the idiot ran on:--

"Dicky, eh?"--tapping his chest. "You know--Dicky. Pete--Pete, eh?"--
and he made the gesture o