"He might have done that without help, I should think."

"But it must be put in to-day, and he had other things to do."

"And then you were at your flowers?" —

"Oh, well! — budding a few roses — that's only play. It was
time they were done. But I am tired; and I am going up to see
Hugh — it will rest me and him too."

The gardening frock and gloves were exchanged for those of
ordinary wear, and Fleda set off slowly to go up to the saw-
mill.

She stopped a moment when she came upon the bridge, to look
off to the right where the waters of the little run came
hurrying along through a narrow wooded chasm in the hill,
murmuring to her of the time when a little child's feet had
paused there, and a child's heart danced to its music. The
freshness of its song was unchanged, the glad rush of its
waters was as joyous as ever, but the spirits were quieted
that used to answer it with sweeter freshness and lighter
joyousness. Its faint echo of the old-time laugh was blended
now in Fleda's ear with a gentle wail for the rushing days and
swifter-fleeing delights of human life; — gentle, faint, but
clear — she could hear it very well. Taking up her walk again,
with a step yet slower, and a brow yet more quiet, she went on
till she came in sight of the little mill; and presently,
above the noise of the brook, could hear the saw going. To her