In a white overall, stained with patches of tar and some streaks of blood, smudged with soap and scraps of the clinging wool, Parson Christian moved among the shearers, applying plentiful doses of salve from a huge can to the snips made in the skin of the sheep by the accidents of the shears. "We might have waited for the maister afore shearing--eh?" said Reuben, from one of the creels. "He'll be here before we finish, please the Lord," answered the parson. "Is it to-day you're to gang for him?" "Yes, this afternoon." "A daub on this leg, parson, where she kicked--deuced take her!... It's like you'll bring him home in a car?" "Ay; Randal Alston has loaned me his mare." "Why, man, what a upshot we'll have, for sure--bacon pie and veal and haggis, and top stannin pie and puddings, I reckon.... Just a hand to her leg, parson, while I strip the coat and waistcoat off this black-faced herdwick.... Is the mistress to come home, too?" "Nay, Reuben, Mrs. Ritson has gone back to where she came from." "Weel, it's no'but naturable, after all that's happent.... Easy now ... be quiet, wilta ... dusta want another snip, eh?... And young Mistress Greta--it's like she'll be mistress now?" "It's very likely she'll come to the Ghyll with her husband, Reuben." "God bless her! And there's been no luck on the land since he left it--and everything a fault, too.... There, she's stripped. Away with her, Natt, man, and de'il tak' her." In the afternoon a vast crowd of men, women and children had gathered once more about the old town-hall at Keswick. They laughed and bantered and sung. Presently the door of the hall was thrown open, and two men came out. One was Paul Ritson, no longer clad as a convict; the other was Parson Christian. The people hailed them with a mighty shout, lifted them into a gig that was drawn up in the market-place, took out the horses and crowded into the shafts. Then they set off with a great cheer through the town and the country road, the dust rising in clouds behind them. They took the road to the west of the valley, and as they passed under the wood, an old man, much bent, was easing a smoking fire in the charcoal pit. He paused and raised himself, his iron rod in his hand, and lifted his heavy eyes toward the clamorous company. The gig flew past with its shouts, its cheers, and its noisy laughter, and the old man turned silently back to his work. When they came near to the vicarage, Paul leaped from the carriage over the heads of the men who pulled it, vaulted the gate, and bounded into the house. There was one who waited for him there, and in an instant she was locked close in his arms. "At last!" he whispered. Her heart overflowed; she dropped her fair young head on his heaving breast, and wept sweet tears.