THEY sat hand in hand on the bench by the duck pond until the shadows began to lengthen along the valley of the Sharrow. For quite a long time they didn’t speak, but at last their reverie was broken by the sight of a dusty figure with a sack on its back shambling along the road towards them. It was the village postman.

“Who’s bought the cottage opposite?” the Corporal asked.

“Zur?” said the postman.

The Corporal repeated his question.

“They do sey, zur,” said the postman in slow, impressive Doric, “the Mayor o’ Blackhampton has bought it.”

“What—Alderman Munt?” The voice of the Corporal was full of dismay.

“The Mayor o’ Blackhampton, zur. Come here the other day in a motey car to look at it. Large big genelman in a white hat.”

The heart of the Corporal sank. What the hell had he, of all people, to go buying it for! Somehow the postman had shattered the queer sad little world in which they sat. A feeling of desperation came suddenly upon the Corporal. He rose abruptly from the bench. “Come on, Mother,” he said, “if we don’t get along we’ll be late for supper.”

“Don’t want no supper, Bill.”

But the Corporal was firm.

“I’d like to stop here all night,” Melia said as she rose limply from the bench. “I’d like to stop here forever.”

That was the desire uppermost in the Corporal also, but it would not do to admit it.

Down the road, hand in hand, like two children out late, they trudged in the gathering dusk to Corfield. It was a perfect evening. Just a little ahead was one faint star; over to the left in the noble line of woods that overlooked the river they could hear the nightingale. Once they stopped and held their breaths to listen. They saw the rabbits dart from among the ferns at their feet and run before them along the white road. The evening pressed ever closer upon them as they marched slowly on, until, at a turn in the road, Corfield with its fruit orchards came into view.

It was a long trek home but they were in no hurry to get there. By the time they had come to the old stone bridge which spanned the broad river and united the country with the town it was quite dark and the lamps of the city were shining in the distance.

Midway across the bridge they stopped to take one last look at the Sharrow gleaming down its valley. Since the afternoon this mighty symbol which from earliest childhood had dominated their every recollection seemed to have gained in power, in magic and in mystery.