the short hair over his forehead, as if he would gladly take that
off too, to show his respect for the new parson. I held out my hand
gratefully. It could not close around the hard, unyielding mass of
fingers which met it. He did not know how to shake hands, and left
it all to me. But pleasure sparkled in his eyes.

"My old woman would like to shake hands with you, sir," he said.

Beside him stood his old woman, in a portentous bonnet, beneath
whose gay yellow ribbons appeared a dusky old face, wrinkled like a
ship's timbers, out of which looked a pair of keen black eyes, where
the best beauty, that of loving-kindness, had not merely lingered,
but triumphed.

"I shall be in to see you soon," I said, as I shook hands with her.
"I shall find out where you live."

"Down by the mill," she said; "close by it, sir. There's one bed in
our garden that always thrives, in the hottest summer, by the plash
from the mill, sir."

"Ask for Old Rogers, sir," said the man. "Everybody knows Old
Rogers. But if your reverence minds what my wife says, you won't go
wrong. When you find the river, it takes you to the mill; and when
you find the mill, you find the wheel; and when you find the wheel,
you haven't far to look for the cottage, sir. It's a poor place, but
you'll be welcome, sir."