n their
usual places. With none to see, the woman's eye moistened; then she sat
down on Will's bed and her heart grew weak for one brief moment as she
pictured him fighting the battle. It hurt her a little that he had told
Clement Hicks his intention and hid it from his mother. Yet as a son, at
least, he had never failed. However, all affairs of life were a matter
of waiting, more or less, she told herself; and patience was easier to
Damaris Blanchard than to most people. Under her highest uneasiness,
maternal pride throbbed at thought of the manly independence indicated
by her son's action. She returned to the duties of the day, but found
herself restless, while continually admonishing Chris not to be so. Her
thoughts drifted to Monks Barton and Will's meeting with his
sweetheart's father. Presently, when her daughter went up to the
village, Mrs. Blanchard put off her apron, donned the cotton sunbonnet
that she always wore from choice, and walked over to see Mr. Lyddon.
They were old friends, and presently Damaris listened sedately to the
miller without taking offence at his directness of speech. He told the
story of his decision and Will's final reply, while she nodded and even
smiled once or twice in the course of the narrative.

"You was both right, I reckon," she said placidly, looking into Mr.
Lyddon's face. "You was wise to mistrust, not knawin' what's at the root
of him; and he, being as he is, was in the right to tell 'e the race
goes to the young. Wheer two hearts is bent on joining, 'tis join they
will--if both keeps of a mind long enough."

"That's it, Damaris Blanchard; who's gwaine to b'lieve that a bwoy an'
gal, like Will an' Phoebe, do knaw theer minds? Mark me, they'll both
chaange sweethearts a score of times yet 'fore they come to mate."

"Caan't speak for your darter, Lyddon; but I knaw my son. A masterful
bwoy, like his faither before him, wild sometimes an' wayward tu, but
not with women-folk. His faither loved in wan plaace awnly. He'll be
true to your cheel whatever betides, or I'm a fule."

"What's the use of that if he ban't true to himself? No, no, I caan't
see a happy ending to the tale however you look at it. Wish I could. I
fear't was a ugly star twinkled awver his birthplace, ma'am."

"'Twas all the stars of heaven, Miller," said the mother, frankly, "for
he was born in my husband's caravan in the auld days. We was camped up
on the Moor, drawn into one of them roundy-poundies o' grey g