u 'm hard in the grain, Lyddon--so them often be who've lived over
long as widow men. Theer 's a power o' gude in my Will, an' your eyes
will be opened to see it some day. He 'm young an' hopeful by nature;
an' such as him, as allus looks up to gert things, feels a come down
worse than others who be content to crawl. He 'm changing, an' I knaw
it, an' I've shed more 'n wan tear awver it, bein' on the edge of age
myself now, an' not so strong-minded as I was 'fore Chris went. He 'm
changing, an' the gert Moor have made his blood beat slower, I reckon,
an' froze his young hope a bit."

"He 's grawiug aulder, that's all. 'T is right as he should chatter
less an' think more."

"I suppose so; yet a mother feels a cold cloud come awver her heart to
watch a cheel fighting the battle an' not winning it. Specially when she
can awnly look on an' do nothin'."

"Doan't you fear. You 'm low in spirit, else you'd never have spoke so
open; but I thank you for tellin' me that things be tighter to Newtake
than I guessed. You leave the rest to me. I knaw how far to let 'em go;
an' if we doan't agree 'pon that question, you must credit me with the
best judgment, an' not think no worse of me for helpin' in my awn way
an' awn time."

With which promise Mrs. Blanchard was contented. Surveying the position
in the solitude of her home, she felt there was much to be thankful for.
Yet she puzzled her heart and head to find schemes by which the miller's
charity might be escaped. She considered her own means, and pictured her
few possessions sold at auction; she had already offered to go and dwell
at Newtake and dispose of her cottage. But Will exploded so violently
when the suggestion reached his ears that she never repeated it.

While the widow thus bent her thoughts upon her son, and gradually sank
to sleep with the problems of the moment unsolved, a remarkable series
of incidents made the night strange at Newtake Farm.

Roused suddenly a little after twelve o'clock by an unusual sound,
Phoebe woke with a start and cried to her husband:

"Will--Will, do hark to Ship! He 'm barkin' that savage!"

Will turned and growled sleepily that it was nothing, but the bark
continued, so he left his bed and looked out of the window. A waning
moon had just thrust one glimmering point above the sombre flank of the
hill. It ascended as he watched, dispensed a sinister illumination, and
like some remote bale-fire hung above the bosom of the nocturnal Mo