It was later than my usual time of return when I reached the landing, and there were already lights in the few houses which stood there. I might have mentioned before—but that I hate to acknowledge the fact—that the utilitarian habits of our era had converted my romantic streamlet into a “power” to turn a mill-wheel. It is not a grist-mill, which is a proper appendage to rural scenery, but a woolen manufactory, which, with its unromantic surroundings, caused me many a joke from my friend, the owner of the boat and of the mill. When I excepted to such things as stretching frames, as a blot on the beauty of the landscape, and to the dirty wool and dye-stuff as ruining its romance, he would tell me that if these valleys and rocks had never heard the clatter of his machinery, neither would the “sound of the church-going bell” have disturbed their echoes. There was no answering this, because it was perfectly true, and I could therefore only “humph” and be silent. Though wrong in some points of his course, Mr. Mariot, our “owner,” was a liberal man and well disposed—would there were more such! He built the little church in which I officiated, and he, in effect, supported the rector. If he had not done so, there could have been neither church nor service. And he found his account in the superior order of his establishment; and would have done still more if, beside building the church, he had abated or forbidden a nuisance which sadly impeded my usefulness. Mr. Mariot stood at the landing, and as I stepped ashore said, “I came down to meet you, Doctor, for Yorkshire Jack is in one of his furious fits, and vows he will beat you—priest or no priest.” “And who is Yorkshire Jack?” I asked, though a suspicion who he might be instantly shot through my mind. My suspicion was correct—for, upon Mr. Mariot’s explanation, I found that he was the very ruffian whose conduct I have been describing. As we passed the house dignified with the title of the “Mariotdale Hotel,” loud voices came through the open windows. Mr. Mariot would have hurried me past, but I laid my hand upon his arm, and in a low but determined tone said, “Wait, sir!”