And who do you think it is?"
Not one in the company could answer, although Angeline blushed, and
looked confused. "Price Bottom, son of that clever old man, the
grave-digger," concluded the Dominie.
"How strange," said the inn-keeper. "Old Bottom had many a glass of ale
at my house, and never troubled anybody, except to dig their graves."
"He was very poor," rejoined Critchel, in a subdued voice, "and died
leaving my bill unpaid. But he was an honest man, and paid when he had
it."
"The son was a queer young man," resumed the Dominie. "Nobody seemed to
care anything about him. And when he left the settlement it was thought
he had got into the city and became a worthless. But here he is, made a
man of himself and has not forgot his old friends."
This was good news to Angeline and Hanz. Still the name of Price Bottom,
the grave-digger's son, revived old if not pleasant memories. The odd
old captain had not forgotten his first love. The flame of that love
always burns, but never dies out. Disappointment may cross it, may for a
time veil its charm, but never can quench it.
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