He had been in
all kinds of situations, and had learned a dozen different modes of
making a living; but had found his way back to his native village
rather poorer than when he left it, his knapsack having dwindled down
to a scanty bundle.
As luck would have it, the Squire was passing by the farmhouse that
very evening, and called there, as is often his custom. He found the
two schoolmates still gossiping in the porch, and according to the
good old Scottish song, "taking a cup of kindness yet, for auld lang
syne." The Squire was struck by the contrast in appearance and
fortunes of these early playmates. Ready-Money Jack, seated in lordly
state, surrounded by the good things of this life, with golden guineas
hanging to his very watch-chain, and the poor pilgrim Slingsby, thin
as a weasel, with all his worldly effects, his bundle, hat, and
walking-staff, lying on the ground beside him.
The good Squire's heart warmed towards the luckless cosmopolite, for
he is a little prone to like such half-vagrant characters. He cast
about in his mind how he should contrive once more to anchor Slingsby
in his native village. Honest Jack had already offered him a present
shelter under his roof, in spite of the hints, and winks, and half
remonstrances of the shrewd Dame Tibbets; but how to provide for his
permanent maintenance was the question.
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