mill was going. Gilmore had told him that it
might probably be so, as he had heard that the repairs were nearly
finished. Fenwick was sure that after so long a period of enforced
idleness Brattle would be in the mill, but he went at first into
the house and there found Mrs. Brattle and Fanny. Even with them he
hardly felt himself to be at home, but after a while managed to ask a
few questions about Sam. Sam had come back, and was now at work, but
he had had some terribly hard words with his father. The old man had
desired to know where his son had been. Sam had declined to tell, and
had declared that if he was to be cross-questioned about his comings
and goings he would leave the mill altogether. His father had told
him that he had better go. Sam had not gone, but the two had been
working on together since without interchanging a word. "I want to
see him especially," said Mr. Fenwick.

"You mean Sam, sir?" asked the mother.

"No; his father. I will go out into the lane, and perhaps Fanny will
ask him to come to me." Mrs. Brattle immediately became dismayed by a
troop of fears, and looked up into his face with soft, supplicating,
tearful eyes. So much of sorrow had come to her of late! "There is
nothing wrong, Mrs. Brattle," he said.

"I thought perhaps you had heard something of Sam."

"Nothing but what has made me surer than ever that he had no part in
what was done at Mr. Trumbull's farm."

"Thank God for that!" said the mother, taking him by the hand. Then
Fanny went into the mill, and the Vicar followed her out of the
house, on to the lane. He stood leaning against a tree till the old
man came to him. He then shook the miller's hand, and made some
remark about the mill. They had begun again that morning, the miller
said. Sam had been off again, or they might have been at work on
yesterday forenoon.

"Do not be angry with him; he has been on a good work," said the
Vicar.

"Good or bad, I know nowt of it," said the miller.

"I know, and if you wish I will tell you; but there is another
thing I must say first. Come a little way down the lane with me, Mr.
Brattle."

The Vicar had assumed a tone which was almost one of rebuke,--not
intending it, but falling into it from want of histrionic power in
his attempt to be bold and solemn at the same time. The miller at
once resented it. "Why should I come down the lane?" said he. "You're
axing me to come out at a very busy moment, Muster Fenwick."

"Nothing can b