Another consciousness obtruded itself now and then--the
knowledge that he was miserably hungry. Presently he came to a
halt by an open gateway that led into a spacious and rather
neglected farm-garden; there was little sign of life about, and
the farm-house at the further end of the garden looked chill and
inhospitable. A drizzling rain, however, was setting in, and
Stoner thought that here perhaps he might obtain a few minutes'
shelter and buy a glass of milk with his last remaining coin. He
turned slowly and wearily into the garden and followed a narrow,
flagged path up to a side door. Before he had time to knock the
door opened and a bent, withered-looking old man stood aside in
the doorway as though to let him pass in.
"Could I come in out of the rain?" Stoner began, but the old man
interrupted him.
"Come in, Master Tom. I knew you would come back one of these
days."
Stoner lurched across the threshold and stood staring
uncomprehendingly at the other.
"Sit down while I put you out a bit of supper," said the old man
with quavering eagerness. Stoner's legs gave way from very
weariness, and he sank inertly into the arm-chair that had been
pushed up to him.
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