"That's just what father says, Sir," answered the young girl, quietly.
"But when things have happened so long ago--before one was born--they
don't come home to one quite so strong, you see. Father keeps not only
his old gratitude, but his old tastes. He cares more for mines and
machinery and such like than for any thing else; he is a better mechanic
than any in Turlock, where I have just been to the watch-maker's to get
him some steel springs. You should see the locks he makes, and the rings
he turns. He will be so pleased if you ask him to show them to you."

"I shall certainly ask him to do so, if I get the chance," said Richard,
eagerly. "Is that your house with the pretty garden?"

"No, Sir; that's the parson's. Nobody can get flowers to grow as he
does. The next house at the top of the hill is ours."

"Why, I thought that would be the inn!" exclaimed Richard, looking at
the little white-washed house, with its sign-board, or what seemed to be
such, swinging in the rising breeze.

"It _is_ the inn," said his companion, quietly, but not without a
roguish smile. "Father keeps the _Gethin Castle_, although he has many
other trades."

"And is that he, at the door yonder?" inquired Richard, pointing to a
tall, thick-set man of middle age, who was standing beneath the little
portico, with a pipe in his mouth.

"No, Sir, that is not father," replied the girl, with sudden gravity;
"that is Solomon Coe."