"Well, dad!" The two men shook hands.
"Well, my lad!" Morel's eyes were wet.
"We thought tha'd niver be commin'," he said.
"Oh, I'd come!" exclaimed William.
Then the son turned round to his mother.
"But you look well," she said proudly, laughing.
"Well!" he exclaimed.

"I should think so--coming home!" He was a fine fellow, big, straight, and fearless-looking.

He looked round at the evergreens and the kissing bunch, and the little tarts that lay in their tins on the hearth.
"By jove! mother, it's not different!" he said, as if in relief.
Everybody was still for a second.

Then he suddenly sprang forward, picked a tart from the hearth, and pushed it whole into his mouth.
"Well, did iver you see such a parish oven!" the father exclaimed.
He had brought them endless presents.

Every penny he had he had spent on them.