impressed upon her, and Mrs. Blanchard went up to her son's room. There
she discovered the velveteen suit with a card upon them: "Hand over to
Mr. Morgan, Head Water-keeper, Sandypark." She looked through his
things, and found that he had taken nothing but his money, one suit of
working clothes, and a red tie--her present to him on his birthday
during the previous month. All his other possessions remained in 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."