Phoebe?" he continued, dismissing Will. "I saw her yesterday--a bowerly
maiden she's grown--a prize for a better man that this wild youngster,
now bolted God knaws where."

"So I think," agreed the miller, "an' I hope she'll soon forget the
searching grey eyes of un and his high-handed way o' speech. Gals like
such things. Dear, dear! though he made me so darned angry last night, I
could have laughed in his faace more 'n wance."

"Missy's under the weather this marnin'," declared Billy. "Who tawld her
I ban't able to say, but she knawed he'd gone just arter feedin' the
fowls, and she went down valley alone, so slow, wi' her purty head that
bent it looked as if her sunbonnet might be hiding an auld gran'mother's
poll."

"She'll come round," said Martin; "she's only a young girl yet."

"And there 's fish as good in the sea as ever came out, and better,"
declared his brother. "She must wait for a man who is a man,--somebody
of good sense and good standing, with property to his name."

Miller Lyddon noted with surprise and satisfaction John Grimbal's warmth
of manner upon this question; he observed also the stout, hearty body of
him, and the handsome face that crowned it. Then the brothers proceeded
down-stream, and the master of Monks Barton looked after them and caught
himself hoping that they might meet Phoebe.

At a point where the river runs between a giant shoulder of heather-clad
hill on one side and the ragged expanses of Whiddon Park upon the other,
John clambered down to the streamside and began to fish, while Martin