an' the little voice. An' then
clock strikes an' I oppen my e'en and see the smoke an' the black
chimnies--eh, I'm welly smoored among 'em all! I could fair go mad to
find mysel' so far away fro' whoam."

"But surely," said the visitor, with a dreamy glance round, "you've
made this place very home-like."

"'Tis, an' 'tisn't. Says I to Mary when she axed me to shift wi' her,
'I'll not coom,' says I, 'wi'out I bring th' clock an' chest, an' all
they bits o' things as I'm used to.' 'Eh, mother,' says she, 'what
would you be doin' wi' 'em down i' London town?'--'What should I be
doin' wi' 'em?' says I. 'Same as I do here,' says I. 'If I coom wi'
you, my lass I mun keep to the owd ways. I'm too owd mysel' for aught
else. I mun keep th' owd things an' th' owd fashions.'--Is that a bit
o' heather as ye've getten i' your hat, sir?"

"Yes," said the man deliberately; "'tis a bit of heather--and it comes
from Boggart Moor. I picked it last week when I went to look for you."

"'Twas wonderful kind of you to go all that way, I'm sure," said Mrs.
Whiteside. "I doubt our Will reckoned we was livin' there still. Tis
years an' years since we've had a word from him. He didn't know I'd
got wed, very like."

"No, he didn't," said the man. "He thought his mother and sister were
livin' still in the little cot up yonder. I had hard work to trace
you."

"How does the little place look, sir?" asked the old woman, with a
wistful look.

"Much as usual," returned he, half absently. "They'n shifted the
horse-block, an' thrown the two shippons into one, an' tiled the
wash-house roof."

Mrs. Rigby clacked her tongue, and her daughter stared.

"How did ye know about the horse-block?" she inquired, "an' how did ye
guess the shippons was throwed into one? Did our Will tell you about
the place?"

He paused a moment, and then laughed.

"Often and often. He said he could find his way there blindfold, an' I
doubt he made me know it as well as himself."

Mrs. Rigby stretched out her hand and touched the sprig of heather
wistfully.

"The moor mun be lookin' gradely now," she said; "all one sheet o'
bloom, I reckon. Eh, I mind how I used to leave windows open, summer
an' winter, an let the air come in, soomtimes hot an' soomtimes cowd,
but al'ays wi' the smell o' the moor in it. Dear, when I think on't I
can scarce breathe here."

"Come, mother, we're keepin' the gentleman standin' all this time,"
said Mary, suddenly recalled to a sense o