not now; he had his little daughter in his arms. It
had come, alas! to be a regular thing that Muriel should be carried up
every slight ascent, and along every hard road. We paused half-way up
on a low wall, where I had many a time rested, watching the sunset over
Nunneley Hill--watching for John to come home. Every night--at least
after Miss March went away--he usually found me sitting there.

He turned to me and smiled. "Dost remember, lad?" at which appellation
Guy widely stared. But, for a minute, how strangely it brought back
old times, when there were neither wife nor children--only he and I!
This seat on the wall, with its small twilight picture of the valley
below the mill, and Nunneley heights, with that sentinel row of sun-set
trees--was all mine--mine solely--for evermore.

"Enderley is just the same, Phineas. Twelve years have made no
change--except in us." And he looked fondly at his wife, who stood a
little way off, holding firmly on the wall, in a hazardous group, her
three boys. "I think the chorus and comment on all life might be
included in two brief phrases given by our friend Shakspeare, one to
Hamlet, the other to Othello: ''Tis very strange,' and ''Tis better as
it is.'"

"Ay, ay," said I thoughtfully. Better as it was; better a thousand
times.

I went to Mrs. Halifax, and helped her to describe the prospect to the
inquisitive boys; finally coaxing the refractory Guy up the winding
road, where, just as if it had been yesterday, stood my old friends, my
four Lombardy poplars, three together and one apart.

Mrs. Tod descried us afar off and was waiting at the gate; a little
stouter, a little rosier--that was all. In her delight, she so
absolutely forgot herself as to address the mother as Miss March; at
which long-unspoken name Ursula started, her colour went and came, and
her eyes turned restlessly towards the church hard by.

"It is all right--Miss--Ma'am, I mean. Tod bears in mind Mr. Halifax's
orders, and has planted lots o' flower-roots and evergreens."

"Yes, I know."

And when she had put all her little ones to bed--we, wondering where
the mother was, went out towards the little churchyard, and found her
quietly sitting there.

We were very happy at Enderley. Muriel brightened up before she had
been there many days. She began to throw off her listlessness, and go
about with me everywhere. It was the season she enjoyed most--the time
of the singing of birds, and the spr