A steam-engine has been put in the mill, and the
pathway behind to the mill dam and to the river bank has been
closed. The people you see think you are a visitor. The church is
restored, and there is a brand new Wesleyan chapel. Better stay
where you are and amuse yourself by trying to make flowers grow in
your little, smoky, suburban back-garden. But Miss Toller and Helen
were not too old. Mr. Toller met them at the station with a four-
wheeled chaise. Before the train had quite stopped, Helen caught
sight of somebody standing by the cart which was brought for the
luggage. 'It's Tom! it's Tom!' she screamed; and it was Tom
himself, white-headed now and a little bent. She insisted on
walking with him by the side of his horse the whole four miles to
their journey's end. He was between forty and fifty when she went
away and had been with Mr. Toller ever since--'tried a bit at
times,' he confessed, 'with the second missus.' 'She's with God,
let us hope,' said Tom, 'and we'll leave her alone.'
They came to Barton Sluice. Flat and unadorned are the fields
there, and the Nen is slow, but it was their own land, they loved
it, and they were at rest.
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