come
in."

"_You_ come in!" murmured old Hagberd, with inexpressible horror.

"I could give you some real information about your son--the very latest
tip, if you care to hear."

"No," shouted Hagberd. He began to pace wildly to and fro, he shouldered
his spade, he gesticulated with his other arm. "Here's a fellow--a
grinning fellow, who says there's something wrong. I've got more
information than you're aware of. I've all the information I want.
I've had it for years--for years--for years--enough to last me till
to-morrow. Let you come in, indeed! What would Harry say?"

Bessie Carvil's figure appeared in black silhouette on the parlour
window; then, with the sound of an opening door, flitted out before the
other cottage, all black, but with something white over her head.
These two voices beginning to talk suddenly outside (she had heard them
indoors) had given her such an emotion that she could not utter a sound.

Captain Hagberd seemed to be trying to find his way out of a cage. His
feet squelched in the puddles left by his industry. He stumbled in the
holes of the ruined grass-plot. He ran blindly against the fence.

"Here, steady a bit!" said the man at the gate, gravely stretching his
arm over and catching him by the sleeve. "Somebody's been trying to get
at you. Hallo! what's this rig you've got on? Storm canvas, by George!"
He had a big laugh. "Well, you _are_ a character!"

Captain Hagberd jerked himself free, and began to back away shrinkingly.
"For the present," he muttered, in a crestfallen tone.

"What's the matter with him?" The stranger addressed Bessie with the
utmost familiarity, in a deliberate, explanatory tone. "I didn't want
to startle the old man." He lowered his voice as though he had known
her for years. "I dropped into a barber's on my way, to get a twopenny
shave, and they told me there he was something of a character. The old
man has been a character all his life."

Captain Hagberd, daunted by the allusion to his clothing, had retreated
inside, taking his spade with him; and the two at the gate, startled
by the unexpected slamming of the door, heard the bolts being shot, the
snapping of the lock, and the echo of an affected gurgling laugh within.

"I didn't want to upset him," the man said, after a short silence.
"What's the meaning of all this? He isn't quite crazy."

"He has been worrying a long time about his lost son," said Bessie, in a
low, apologetic tone.

"Well, I am his s