luggage. 'It's Tom! it's Tom!' she screamed; and it was Tom
himself, white-headed now and a little bent. She insisted on
walking with him by the side of his horse the whole four miles to
their journey's end. He was between forty and fifty when she went
away and had been with Mr. Toller ever since--'tried a bit at
times,' he confessed, 'with the second missus.' 'She's with God,
let us hope,' said Tom, 'and we'll leave her alone.'

They came to Barton Sluice. Flat and unadorned are the fields
there, and the Nen is slow, but it was their own land, they loved
it, and they were at rest. They fell into their former habits, and
the talk of crops, of markets, of the weather, and of their
neighbours was sweet. Mrs. Mudge and Miss Everard came now and then
to see them in summer time, and when Mr. Toller slept with his
fathers, his daughter and Helen remained at the farm and managed it
between them.



ESTHER



BLACKDEEP FEN, 24th November 1838.

My Dear Esther,--This is your birthday and your wedding-day, and I
have sent you a cake and a knitted cross-over, both of which I have
made myself. I can still knit, although my eyes fail a bit. I hope
the cross-over will be useful during the winter. Tell me, my dear,
how you are. Twenty-eight years ago it is since you came into the