Englishwoman, and of her restoration to the absolute earth of her
forbears. In writing of this woman Mr Kipling has only had to recall
his own joyful adventure in picking up the threads of a life at once
familiar and mysterious, in meeting again the homely miracle of things
that never change. Finally England claims her utterly--her and her
children and her American husband. It was an American who bade Cloke,
man of the soil and acquired retainer of the family, bring down
larch-poles for a light bridge over the brook; but it was an Englishman
reclaimed who needs consented to Cloke's amendment:


"'But where the deuce are the larch-poles, Cloke? I told you to have
them down here ready.'

"'We'll get 'em down _if_ you, say so,' Cloke answered, with a thrust
of the underlip they both knew.

"'But I did say so. What on earth have you brought that timber-tug
here for? We aren't building a railway bridge. Why, in America,
half-a-dozen two-by-four bits would be ample.'

"'I don't know nothin' about that,' said Cloke. 'An' I've nothin' to
say against larch--_if_ you want to make a temp'ry job of it. I ain't
'ere to tell you what isn't so, sir; an' you can't say I ever come
creepin' up on you, or tryin' to lead you farther in than you set
out----'

"A year ago George would have danced with impatience. Now he scraped a
little mud off his old gaiters with his spud, and waited.