Then the crystal
water, shooting the old black mill-wheel, fell off it like the beard
from Duff Salter's face, and went away in pools and flakes across a
meadow, under spontaneous willow trees which liked to stand in moisture
and cover with their roots the harmless water-snakes. A few cottages
peeped over the adjacent ridges upon the hidden dale.
"What a restful place!" exclaimed Podge Byerly. "I almost wish I might
be spirit of a mill, or better still, that old boat yonder basking in
the pond-lilies and holding up its shadow!"
"I am glad you like it," said Duff Salter. "Let us go in and see if the
house is hospitable."
As Podge Byerly walked up the worn stone walk of the lawn she saw a
familiar image at the door--her mother.
"You here, mother?" said Podge. "What is the meaning of it?"
"This is my house, my darling. There is our friend who gave it to us.
You will need to teach no more. The mill and a little farm surrounding
us will make us independent."
Podge turned to Duff Salter.
"How kind of you!" she said. "Yet it frightens me the more. These
surprises, tender as they are, excite me. Everything about you is
mysterious. You are not even deaf as you were. What silly things you may
have heard us say."
"Dear girl," exclaimed Duff Salter, "nothing which I heard from your
lips ever affected me except to love you.
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