she must stay in of an evening when others are trapesing," replied
Ishmael, with equal carelessness. For they were Cornishmen, these two,
and the Parson would no more have asked outright "Is Phoebe coming?"
than Ishmael would have given a direct answer.

Lenine's mill, known as Vellan-Clowse, which means "The Mill by the
Wood," nestled in a valley below the Cloon moor where the leet ran along
built-up banks to the dam and then down a succession of wooden troughs
to the crest of the wheel. Facing the mill was the great cluster of elms
that headed the valley, and behind only a tiny little yard divided it
from the steepness of the hillside. The trees were the biggest for miles
in that wind-swept district, and the bed of the valley showed green and
lush with its marshy pastures, where the ugly red and white cows were
tearing at the grass. The wheel was standing dumb, as harvest was not
yet garnered, and Boase and Ishmael passed the mill door and went on to
the house. There the door stood open, as did the further one at the end
of the cool, straight passage that looked dark by contrast with the yard
beyond, where, under the blazing sun, a little girl was feeding some
fowls. The whole scene, set in the black oblong of the doorway, was
compact of blue and flame colour--the blue of the frock and the shadows
and the pale flame of the gravel where the shadows lay and the deeper
flame fowls clustered. The man and the boy looked through for a moment
in silence, then Phoebe turned and saw them.

Phoebe Lenine, being a woman of some eight years old, shook the
remains of the corn off her small blue lap with no signs of haste or
discomposure, and, turning her back, called to a hidden corner of the
yard.

"Faëther! Faëther! Passon's come to see you!"