On the following morning Mr. Fenwick walked down to the mill. There was a path all along the river, and this was the way he took. He passed different points as he went, and he thought of the trout he had caught there, or had wished to catch, and he thought also how often Sam Brattle had been with him as he had stood there delicately throwing his fly. In those days Sam had been very fond of him, had thought it to be a great thing to be allowed to fish with the parson, and had been reasonably obedient. Now Sam would not even come up to the Vicarage when he was asked to do so. For more than a year after the close of those amicable relations the parson had behaved with kindness and almost with affection to the lad. He had interceded with the Squire when Sam was accused of poaching,—had interceded with the old miller when Sam had given offence at home,—and had even interceded with the constable when there was a rumour in the wind of offences something worse than these. Then had come the occasion on which Mr. Fenwick had told the father that unless the son would change his course evil would come of it; and both father and son had taken this amiss. The father had told the parson to his face that he, the parson, had led his son astray; and the son in his revenge had brought housebreakers down upon his old friend’s premises.

“One hasn’t to do it for thanks,” said Mr. Fenwick, as he became a little bitter while thinking of all this. “I’ll stick to him as long as I can, if it’s only for the old woman’s sake,—and for the poor girl whom we used to love.” Then he thought of a clear, sweet, young voice that used to be so well known in his village choir, and of the heavy curls, which it was a delight to him to see. It had been a pleasure to him to have such a girl as Carry Brattle in his church, and now Carry Brattle was gone utterly, and would probably never be seen in a church again. These Brattles had suffered much, and he would bear with them, let the task of doing so be ever so hard.

The sound of workmen was to be already heard as he drew near to the mill. There were men there pulling the thatch off the building, and there were carts and horses bringing laths, lime, bricks, and timber, and taking the old rubbish away. As he crossed quickly by the slippery stones he saw old Jacob Brattle standing before the mill looking on, with his hands in his breeches pockets. He was too old to do much at such work as this,—work to which he was not accustomed—and was looking up in a sad melancholy way, as though it were a work of destruction, and not one of reparation.

“We shall have you here as smart as possible before long, Mr. Brattle,” said the parson.

“I don’t know much about smart, Muster Fenwick. The old place was a’most tumbling down,—but still it would have lasted out my time, I’m thinking. If t’ Squire would ‘a done it fifteen years ago, I’d ‘a thanked un; but I don’t know what to say about it now, and this time of year and all, just when the new grist would be coming in. If t’ Squire would ‘a thought of it in June, now. But things is contrary—a’most allays so.” After this speech, which was made in a low, droning voice, bit by bit, the miller took himself off and went into the house.

At the back of the mill, perched on an old projecting beam, in the midst of dust and dirt, assisting with all the energy of youth in the demolition of the roof, Mr. Fenwick saw Sam Brattle. He perceived at once that Sam had seen him; but the young man immediately averted his eyes and went on with his work. The parson did not speak at once, but stepped over the ruins around him till he came immediately under the beam in question. Then he called to the lad, and Sam was constrained to answer “Yes, Mr. Fenwick, I am here;—hard at work, as you see.”

“I do see it, and wish you luck with your job. Spare me ten minutes, and come down and speak to me.”

“I am in such a muck now, Mr. Fenwick, that I do wish to go on with it, if you’ll let me.”

But Mr. Fenwick, having taken so much trouble to get at the young man, was not going to be put off in this way. “Never mind your muck for a quarter of an hour,” he said. “I have come here on purpose to find you, and I must speak to you.”

“Must!” said Sam, looking down with a very angry lower on his face.

“Yes,—must. Don’t be a fool now. You know that I do not wish to injure you. You are not such a coward as to be afraid to speak to me. Come d............