century, promised that Jane might have the use of the house for her life.

Noah Pedlar had never rose to be farmer's right-hand man or anything like
that. He was a humble creature, faithful unto death, but no use away from
hedge-tacking and such rough jobs; yet he'd done his duty according to his
limits, however narrow they might be, and so he got his way on his
death-bed, and, in the sudden surprise that such a landmark as Noah was
going home, Farmer Bewes gave his promise.

But that was twenty year agone, and Nicholas Bewes had grown oldish
himself now, and Jane was thought to be nearer eighty than seventy by her
neighbours. Friends she had not, except for Mrs. Cobley; but there's no
doubt, though a much younger woman, Mary Cobley had a sort of feeling for
Jane; and there was Milly Boon also--Jane's orphan niece, who lived along
with her and kept house for her. She was a good friend too.

The adventure began, you may say, when a returned native came back to
Little Silver, and 'twas Mary Cobley's son Jack who did so.

He'd gone to sea when he was fifteen, but kept in touch with his folk and
left the sea and found work in the West Indies and bided there for
five-and-twenty years. And now he came back, brown as a berry and ugly as
need be. At forty you might say Jack Cobley couldn't be beat for
plainness; and yet, after all, I've seen better-looking men that was
uglier, if you understand me, because, though his countenance put you in
mind of an old church gargoyle, yet it was kindly and benevolent in its
hideousness, and he had good, trustful eyes; and, to the thinking mind, a
man's expression matters more than the shape of his mouth or the cut of
his nose.