"Talk of beggars on horseback," thought Stoner to himself, as he
trotted rapidly along the muddy lanes where he had tramped
yesterday as a down-at-heel outcast; and then he flung reflection
indolently aside and gave himself up to the pleasure of a smart
canter along the turf-grown side of a level stretch of road. At
an open gateway he checked his pace to allow two carts to turn
into a field. The lads driving the carts found time to give him a
prolonged stare, and as he passed on he heard an excited voice
call out, "'Tis Tom Prike! I knowed him at once; showing hisself
here agen, is he?"
Evidently the likeness which had imposed at close quarters on a
doddering old man was good enough to mislead younger eyes at a
short distance.
In the course of his ride he met with ample evidence to confirm
the statement that local folk had neither forgotten nor forgiven
the bygone crime which had come to him as a legacy from the absent
Tom. Scowling looks, mutterings, and nudgings greeted him
whenever he chanced upon human beings; "Bowker's pup," trotting
placidly by his side, seemed the one element of friendliness in a
hostile world.
As he dismounted at the side door he caught a fleeting glimpse of
a gaunt, elderly woman peering at him from behind the curtain of
an upper window.
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