The rush of the water and the booming of the mill bring a dreamy
deafness, which seems to heighten the peacefulness of the scene.
They are like a grand curtain of sound, shutting one out from the
world beyond. And now there is the thunder of the huge covered
wagon coming home with sacks of grain. That honest wagoner is
thinking of his dinner, getting sadly dry in the oven at this late
hour; but he will not touch it till he has fed his horses--the
strong, submissive, meek-eyed beasts, who, I fancy, are looking
mild reproach at him from between their blinkers, that he should
crack his whip at them in that awful manner, as if they needed that
hint! See how they stretch their shoulders up the slope toward the
bridge, with all the more energy because they are so near home!
Look at their grand shaggy feet, that seem to grasp the firm earth,
at the patient strength of their neck, bowed under the heavy
collar, at the mighty muscles of their struggling haunches! I
should like well to hear them neigh over their hardly earned feed
of corn, and see them, with their moist necks freed from the
harness, dipping their eager nostrils into the muddy pond. Now they
are on the bridge, and down they go again at a swifter pace, and
the arch of the covered wagon disappears at the turning behind the
trees.

Now I can turn my eyes toward the mill again, and watch the
unresting wheel sending out its diamond jets of water. That little
girl is watching it too: she has been standing on just the same
spot at the edge of the water ever since I paused on the bridge.
And that queer white cur with the brown ear seems to be leaping and
barking in ineffectual remonstrance with the wheel; perhaps he is
jealous, because his playfellow in the beaver bonnet is so rapt in
its movement. It is time the little playfellow went in, I think;
and there is a very bright fire to tempt her: the red light shines
out under the deepening gray of the sky. It is time, too, for me to
leave off resting my arms on the cold stone of this bridge.

Ah, my arms are really benumbed. I have been pressing my elbows on
the arms of my chair and dreaming that I was standing on the bridge
in front of Dorlcote Mill, as it looked one February afternoon many
years ago. Before I dozed off, I was going to tell you