run panting up to where the squire and his mother were sitting at home.
"They've come back—they've come back!" he shouted, and then he stood as if struck dumb at the thought of what he had done—raced off to tell the only magistrate for miles round that the fugitive smugglers had returned as if to give themselves up.
"Master Lahnce, lad!" cried the old man, making a grab at the boy's hand.
A few questions followed, and Mrs. Penwith sat gazing anxiously from husband to son and back again, for the same thought occurred to her as had flashed upon her boy—"What will he say?" But it was something quite different from anything they expected.
"Come back, Lance? Yes, you've come back, and the dinner is getting cold. Come along."