she said.

"Too young for you!" he exclaimed in disgust. "Why don't you buy some
false white hair and stick it on your head."

"I s'll soon have no need," she replied. "I'm going white fast enough."

"Well, you've no business to," he said. "What do I want with a
white-haired mother?"

"I'm afraid you'll have to put up with one, my lad," she said rather
strangely.

They set off in great style, she carrying the umbrella William had given
her, because of the sun. Paul was considerably taller than she, though
he was not big. He fancied himself.

On the fallow land the young wheat shone silkily. Minton pit waved its
plumes of white steam, coughed, and rattled hoarsely.

"Now look at that!" said Mrs. Morel. Mother and son stood on the road to
watch. Along the ridge of the great pit-hill crawled a little group
in silhouette against the sky, a horse, a small truck, and a man. They
climbed the incline against the heavens. At the end the man tipped the
wagon. There was an undue rattle as the waste fell down the sheer slope
of the enormous bank.

"You sit a minute, mother," he said, and she took a seat on a bank,
whilst he sketched rapidly. She was silent whilst he worked, looking
round at the afternoon, the red cottages shining among their greenness.

"The world is a wonderful place," she said, "and wonderfully beautiful."

"And so's the pit," he said. "Look how it heaps together, like something
alive almost--a big creature that you don't know."

"Yes," she said. "Perhaps!"

"And all the trucks standing waiting, like a string of beasts to be
fed," he said.

"And very thankful I am they ARE standing," she said, "for that means
they'll turn middling time this week."

"But I like the feel of MEN on things, while they're alive. There's a
feel of men about trucks, because they've been handled with men's hands,
all of them."

"Yes," said Mrs. Morel.

They went along under the trees of the highroad. He was constantly
informing her, but she was interested. They passed the end of
Nethermere, that was tossing its sunshine like petals lightly in
its lap. Then they turned on a private road, and in some trepidation
approached a big farm. A dog barked furiously. A woman came out to see.

"Is this the way to Willey Farm?" Mrs. Morel asked.

Paul hung behind in terror of being sent back. But the woman was
amiable, and directed them. The mother and son went through the wheat
and oats, over a little bridge into a wild meado