at him somewhere in the Indies."

A faint smile flickered across Johnnie's face. "How sad!" he cried.
"Who then lives in his house yonder?"

"Just a widow woman and her maid. They will not quit, they say, until
a twelvemonth and a day be gone by from the time the rascal Dons laid
hands on their master. They will have it that he will come back; and
Mistress Dawe of Newnham, and a sailor-man named Dan of Plymouth, do
hold with them."

Johnnie wanted to ask a question about Dolly, but the words would not
come. The lad relieved him by continuing to unload his budget of
information.

"The sailor-man be lodged at the farm, much against the widow's
wish--so she says; but he declares he will not budge, lest Master
Morgan should come home and find never the face of an old shipmate to
cheer him." (The smile flickered across Johnnie's face again.)
"Mistress Dawe be now at the house, if thou art minded to walk thither.
She comes there at times and stays for two or three days. Folks do say
that she expects John Morgan to walk in some evening. They were
lovers, ye know."

"Ah!" said Johnnie, with a catch in his breath.

"Yon's the house, behind the hayricks. Fine harvest Master Morgan had
last year. All the lads in this part of the forest looked after his
fields in turns. I helped to get in his hay and corn, and the widow
gave a harvest home just as the master would have done."

"Didst know this Morgan, sonnie?"

"Ay, I do mind him well. Thou dost favour him somewhat, only he was a
taller and properer man and had no beard."

"Well, I'll go to the house; here's a penny for thee. Tell thy father
that a tall man who hath been in the Indies hath been asking for Master
Morgan."

Johnnie walked on, his heart beating to the rhythm, "Dolly is there!
Dolly is there!" He jumped a stile. His own fields! He looked
around; no one was in sight, so he pressed his lips to the turf, then
whispered a quick, passionate prayer. Rising up again, eyes wet, knees
trembling, he walked on.

He had turned up the path from the river; his orchard was before him.
He turned to look behind at the rushing stream and the gulls circling
in the rays of the setting sun. There was a flutter of white at the
river-stile. His heart stood still. Could it be? No!--Was it?--Yes!
He started riverwards at a run; then stopped; hesitated; walked soberly
on.

The flutter of white again from the shadow of the hedge; the figure of
a girl, bonnetl