"They're coming!" said one of the crowd; but it was a false alarm. A
flock of breeding lambs of the Dorset horned sheep pattered through the
village on their way to pasture. The young, healthy creatures, with
amber-coloured horns and yellow eyes, trotted contentedly along together
and left an ovine reek in the air. Behind them came the shepherd--a
high-coloured, middle-aged man with a sharp nose and mild, grey eyes. He
could give news of the funeral, which was on the way behind him.

An iron seat stood under the sycamore on the triangular patch of grass,
and a big woman sat upon it. She was of vast dimensions, broad and beamy
as a Dutch sloop. Her bulk was clad in dun colour, and on her black
bonnet appeared a layer of yellow dust. She spoke to others of the
little crowd who surrounded her. They came from Bridetown Spinning Mill,
for work was suspended because Henry Ironsyde, the mill owner, had died
and now approached his grave.

"The Ironsydes bury here, but they don't live here," said Sally Groves.
"They lived here once, at North Hill House; but that's when I first came
to the Mill as a bit of a girl."

The big woman fanned herself with a handkerchief, then spoke a grey man
with a full beard, small head, and discontented eyes. He was Levi Baggs,
the hackler.

"We shall have those two blessed boys over us now, no doubt," he said.
"But what know they? Things will be as they were, and time and wages the
same as before."

"They'll be sure to do what their father wished, and there was a murmur
of changes before he died," said Sally Groves; but Levi shook his head.