older. A man of some
position, may be, playing an amorous game for the pleasure of the
hour. Who knoweth but that he have a wife already? Many have done the
thing hereabouts of late."

Having paid a visit to the graves of his relatives, the sailor next
day went along the straight road which, then a lane, now a highway,
conducted to the curious little inland town named by the Havenpool
man. It is unnecessary to describe Oozewood on the South-Avon. It has
a railway at the present day, but thirty years of steam traffic past
its precincts have hardly modified its original features. Surrounded
by a sort of fresh-water lagoon, dividing it from meadows and coppice,
its ancient thatch and timber houses have barely made way even in the
front street for the ubiquitous modern brick and slate. It neither
increases nor diminishes in size; it is difficult to say what the
inhabitants find to do, for, though trades in wood-ware are still
carried on, there cannot be enough of this class of work now-a-days to
maintain all the house-holders, the forests around having been so
greatly thinned and curtailed. At the time of this tradition the
forests were dense, artificers in wood abounded, and the timber trade
was brisk. Every house in the town, without exception, was of oak
framework, filled in with plaster, and covered with thatch, the
chimney being the only brick portion of the structure. Inquiry soon
brought Roger the sailor to the door of Wall, the timber-dealer
referred to, but it was some time before he was able to gain admission
to the lodging of his sister, the people having plainly received
directions not to welcome strangers.

She was sitting in an upper room, on one of the lath-backed,
willow-bottomed "shepherd's" chairs, made on the spot then as to this
day, and as they were probably made there in the days of the
Heptarchy. In her lap was an infant, which she had been suckling,
though now it had fallen asleep; so had the young mother herself for a
few minutes, under the drowsing effects of solitude. Hearing footsteps
on the stairs, she awoke, started up with a glad cry, and ran to the
door, opening which she met her brother on the threshold.

"Oh, this is merry! I didn't expect 'ee!" she said. "Ah, Roger--I
thought it was John." Her tones fell to disappointment.

The sailor kissed her, looked at her sternly for a few moments, and
pointing to the infant, said: "You mean the father of this?"

"Yes, my husband," said Edith.