Ah, well! those bad weeks were done, and here he was, at home again. Suddenly, as he tramped on, he caught sight against the hill of Bessie's cottage, the blue smoke from it blown across the rime-laden trees behind it. He drew in his breath with a deep, tremulous delight. That buoyant self-congratulation indeed which had stood between him and the pain of Eliza's death was gone. Rather, there was in him a profound yearning for rest, for long dreaming by the fire or in the sun, with his pipe to smoke, and Jim's Louisa to look after him, and nothing to do but to draw a half-crown from his box when he wanted it. No more hard work in rain and cold; and no cringing, either, to the young and prosperous for the mere fault of age. The snowy valley, with its circling woods, opened to him like a mother's breast; the sight of it filled him with a hundred simple hopes and consolations; he hurried to bury himself in it and be at peace. He was within a hundred yards of the first house in the village, when he saw a tall figure in uniform approaching, and recognised Watson. At sight of him the policeman stopped short, and John was conscious of a moment's vague impression of something strange in Watson's looks. However, Watson shook hands with great friendliness. "Well, I'm glad to see yer, John, I'm sure. An' now, I s'pose, you're back for good?" "Aye. I'm not going away no more. I've done my share--I wants a bit o' rest." "Of course yer do. You've been ill, 'aven't yer? You look like it. An' yer puttin' up at Costrells'?" "Yes, till I can turn round a bit. 'Ave yer seen any thin' ov 'em? 'Ow's Bessie?" Watson faced back towards the village. "I'll walk with yer a bit--I'm in no 'urry. Oh, she's all right. You 'eard of her bit o' money?" John opened his eyes. "Noa, I don' know as I did." "It wor an aunt o' hers, soa I understan'--quite a good bit o' money." "Did yer iver hear the name?" said John, eagerly. "Some one livin' at Bedford, I did 'ear say." John laughed, not without good-humoured relief. It would have touched his vanity had his niece been discovered to be richer than himself. "Oh, that's old Sophy Clarke!" he said. "Her 'usband bought the lease o' two little 'ouses in Church Street, and they braat 'er in six shillin's a week for years, an' she allus said she'd leave it to Bessie if she wor took afore the lease wor up. But the lease ull be up end o' next year, I know, for I saw the old lady myself last Michaelmas twelve-month, an' she told me all about it, though I worn't to tell nobody meself. An' I didn't know Sophy wor gone. Ah, well! it's not much, but it's 'andy--it's 'andy." "Six shillin's a week!" said Watson, raising his eyebrows. "It's a nice bit o' money while it lassts, but I'd ha' thought Mrs. Costrell 'ad come into a deal more nor that."