They went arm-in-arm along the meadow path, the young and the old masters of Beautiful End. Thomas had always been a silent soul, but now he talked as if he would never stop. Every now and then he laughed as well, a satisfied, happy chuckle in his throat. Also he acted showman, which was hard to bear, and Kit said “Ay” and “Nay,” and looked the other way. He wished with all his heart that Thomas would stop pointing and hold his tongue. He did not want to be shown things; most passionately he did _not_. He could find what he wanted for himself, and see it as Thomas could never see it, if he tried for the rest of his life. There was no use in showing things at any time, if it came to that, because no two persons saw them just the same. Thomas was equally busy pointing out what was new, and introducing old friends, as it were, by the scruff of the neck. Thomas had been off at service from a lad, yet here he was teaching his father about the farm, although Kit had never ceased seeing it since he went away. Did he remember the three old trees in a clump, and how deep the river ran below the house? Glimpses of bay and moss ... his own fields ... things that were closer than breathing and nearer than hands and feet! He was ashamed of himself for being irritated and vexed, because, of course, Thomas was only meaning to be kind. It wasn’t every son who would do so much for a thriftless dad, and he didn’t know he was spoiling things at the start. He must just be allowed to talk himself to a stop, and then perhaps they would have a little peace. He would surely get tired of pointing, after a bit. There was nothing to do but say “Ay” and look away. The meadow was altered, somehow, he said to himself, though just for the moment he was puzzled to say why. It had a smoother and greener look than he remembered it to have worn, though at the same time it seemed somehow rather bare. “There’s a deal less thistles than there used,” he said, when he understood, and Thomas laughed and nodded his head with pride. “Ay, and there’ll be fewer still afore I’m through.” His eyes went keenly across the meadow and over the land, seeing things as his father would never see them, if he tried for the rest of his life. “I’ve not made a job of it yet, not by a deal, but there’s over much to take in hand right off. I just went for t’things as was worst, and t’others mun just make shift and bide their time. I’d ha’ liked to have had the whole place sided afore you come, but yon was a bigger bite than I could chew....” There was a warm satisfaction in his voice in spite of his words, for he had done wonders already, as, of course, he knew. Already the farm had a look of care such as it had not worn for many a long year. He could not help feeling proud that it had changed its face even in so short a time, and was perfectly sure that his father would be proud as well. Kit, however, seemed scarcely to notice what he said, but was busy staring at the cattle under the hedge.