The sluggish river looked muddier than ever, the new cottage looked
uglier than ever, exposed to the searching ordeal of sunlight. I knocked
at the door on the ancient side of the building.

Cristel's father--shall I confess I had hoped that it might be Cristel
herself?--let me in. In by-gone days, I dimly remembered him as old and
small and withered. Advancing years had wasted him away, in the interval,
until his white miller's clothes hung about him in empty folds. His
fleshless face would have looked like the face of a mummy, but for the
restless brightness of his little watchful black eyes. He stared at me in
momentary perplexity, and, suddenly recovering himself, asked me to walk
in.

"Are you the young master, sir? Ah, yes, yes; I thought so. My girl
Cristy said she saw the young master last night. Thank you kindly, sir;
I'm pretty well, considering how I've fallen away in my flesh. I have got
a fine appetite, but somehow or other, my meals don't show on me. You
will excuse my receiving you in the kitchen, sir; it's the best room we
have. Did Cristy tell you how badly we are off here for repairs? You
being our landlord, we look to you to help us. We are falling to pieces,
as it were, on this old side of the house. There's first drains----"

He proceeded to reckon up the repairs, counting with his fleshless thumb
on his skinny fingers, when he was interrupted by a curious succession of
sounds which began with whining, and ended with scratching at the cottage
door.

In a minute after, the door was opened from without. A brown dog, of the
companionable retriever breed, ran in and fawned upon old Toller. Cristel