a solitary grandfather—­which, proud as you may be of it, is a slight occupation—­I began to think things over and find there was more in my poor wife’s notions than I’d ever allowed.  And the upshot was that seeing this advertisement by chance in a copy of the Sherborne Messenger, I determined to shut up shop and let Axminster think I was gone on a holiday, while I gave it a trial; for, you see, I was not altogether sure of myself.”

“Excuse me, Badcock,” interrupted Mr. Fett, advancing towards him with outstretched arms; “but have you perused the books of chivalry, or is this the pure light of nature?”

“Books, sir?” answered Mr. Badcock, seriously.  “I never knew there were any books about it.  I never heard of tchivalry except from my late wife; and you’ll excuse the force of habit, but she pronounced it the same as in chibbles.”

“You never read of the meeting of Amadis and Sir Galaor?”

Mr. Badcock shook his head.

“Nor of Percival and Galahad, nor of Sir Balin and Sir Balan?  No?  Then embrace me!”

“Sir?”

“Embrace me!”

“Sit down, the pair of you,” my father commanded.  “I have a proposal to make, which, if I mistake not, will interest you both.  Mr. Badcock, I have heard your aspirations, and can fulfil them in a degree that will surprise you.  I like you, Mr. Badcock.”

“The feeling, sir, is mutchual.”  Mr. Badcock bowed with much amiability.

“Is time an object with you?”

“None whatever, sir.  I am on a holiday.”

“Will you be my guest to-night?”

“With the more pleasure, sir, after my experience of the inns in these parts.  Though I may have presented her to you in a somewhat romantic light, my Artemisia did know how to make a bed; and twenty-two years of her ministrations, not to mention her companionship, have coddled me in this particular.”

“And you, sir”—­my father turned to Mr. Fett—­“will you accompany us?”

“With what ulterior object?” demanded Mr. Fett.  “You will excuse my speaking as a business man, and overlook the damned bad manners of the question for the sake of its pertinence.”

My father smiled.  “Why, sir, I was proposing to invite you to a sea voyage with me.”

“There was a time, before commerce claimed me, when the mere hint of a nautical expedition had evoked an emotion which, if it survive at all, lingers but as in a sea-shell the whisper of the parent ocean.”

“As a supercargo, at four shillings per diem,” suggested my father.

“Say no more, sir; I am yours.”

“As for Mr. Fiennes—­nay, lad, I remember you well.”  My father turned to him with that sweet courtesy which few ever resisted.  “And blush not, lad, if I guess that to you we all owe this meeting; ’twere a bravery well beseeming your blood.  As for Mr. Fiennes, he will accompany us in heart if he cannot in presence—­being, as I understand, destined for the law?”