"I found I could catch an early train," he said, "so I just hopped on, for I was in a desperate hurry to see you. What are you doing here, at this hour?" He stared at the cobbler.
"This is Mr. Martindale," I explained. "He mends our boots, and tells us stories, and he's got a bird named Coppertoes."
"So you are a friend of my boys," said father.
"Ay. And they're grand little lads, sir. I have a daughter of my own I'm very proud of, sir. She was lost for seventeen years, and your sons helped me to find her."
His daughter came to the door then to call him to breakfast. She had a yellow braid over each shoulder, and Coppertoes was sitting on her wrist with a piece of chickweed in his bill. Father stopped to admire them both.
"By George," he said, when we had left them, "if all your friends are as interesting as those, I should like to meet them."
"They are that," I said, happily, "and here's another of them."
It was Granfa, standing at the gate, his blue eyes staring with amazement. He raised his broom to his shoulder and stood at attention as we drew near.
"What a sight for the nation!" he exclaimed. "Welcome home my dear son-in-law. I be terrible proud to hand my charges over to 'ee. Us
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