"gentleman"--in whom, though she had not seen him for years, Miss
Leaf found no difficulty in recognizing the grocer's prentice boy,
now Mr. Peter Ascott, of Russell Square.

She rose to receive him: there was always a stateliness in Miss
Leaf's reception of strangers; a slight formality belonging to her
own past generation, and to the time when the Leafs were a "county
family." Perhaps this extra dignity, graceful as it was, overpowered
the little man; or else, being a bachelor, he was unaccustomed to
ladies' society: but he grew red in the face, twiddled his hat, and
then cast a sharp inquisitive glance toward her.

"Miss Leaf, I presume, ma'am. The eldest?"

"I am the eldest Miss Leaf, and very glad to have an opportunity of
thanking you for your long kindness to my nephew. Elizabeth, give Mr.
Ascott a chair."

While doing so, and before her disappearance, Elizabeth took a rapid
observation of the visitor, whose name and history were perfectly
familiar to her. Most small towns have their hero, and Stowbury's was
Peter Ascott, the grocer's boy, the little fellow who had gone up to
London to seek his fortune, and had, strange to say, found it.
Whether by industry or luck--except that industry is luck, and luck
is only another word for industry--he had gradually risen to be a
large city merchant, a dry-salter I conclude it would be called, with
a handsome house, carriage, etc. He had never revisited his native
place, which indeed could not be expected of him, as he had no
relations, but, when asked, as was not seldom of course, he
subscribed liberally to its charities.