hink, Mr. Grimbal?" said Phoebe.

"Ay, that I am. There's no place like Devon, in all the earth, and no
spot like Chagford in Devon. I'm too hard grit to wink an eyelid at
sight of the old scenes again myself; but Martin, when he caught first
sight of great rolling Cosdon crowning the land--why, his eyes were
wetted, if you'll believe it."

"And you comed right off to fish the river fust thing," said Will
admiringly.

"Ay, couldn't help it. When I heard the water calling, it was more than
my power to keep away. But you're cruel short of rain, seemingly, and
of course the season 's nearly over."

"I'll shaw you dark hovers, wheer braave feesh be lying yet," promised
Will; and the angler thanked him, foretelling a great friendship. Yet
his eyes rarely roamed from Phoebe, and anon, as all three proceeded,
John Grimbal stopped at the gate of Monks Barton and held the girl in
conversation awhile. But first he despatched Will homewards with a
message for his mother. "Let Mrs. Blanchard know we'll feed at seven
o'clock off the best that she can get," he said; "and tell her not to
bother about the liquor. I'll see to that myself."

CHAPTER II

A CLEAR UNDERSTANDING

Monks Barton, or Barton Monachorum, as the farm was called in a Tudor
perambulation of Chagford, owed its name to traditions that holy men
aforetime dwelt there, performed saintly deeds, and blessed a spring in
the adjacent woods, whose waters from that date ever proved a magical
medicament for "striking" of sore eyes. That the lands of the valley had
once been in monastic possession was, however, probable enough; and some
portions of the old farm did in truth rise upon the ruins of a still
more ancient habitation long vanished. Monks Barton stood, a picturesque
agglomeration of buildings, beside the river. The mill-wheel, fed by a
stream taken from the Teign some distance up the valley and here
returned again to the parent water, thundered on its solemn round in an
eternal twinkling twilight of dripping ferns and green mosses; while
hard by the dwelling-house stood and offered small diamond panes and one
dormer-window to the south. Upon its whitewashed face three fruit-trees
grew--a black plum, a cherry, a winter pear; and before the farmhouse
stretched a yard sloping to the river ford, where a line of massive
stepping-stones for foot-passengers crossed the water. On either side of
this space, walled up from the edge of the stream, little gardens of