As Agnes returned home, she called at Blaelodge to take up the children; for their holidays were over, and they had returned to school; and a little cluster of other children, also returning from school, hung on behind the carriage, and kept up a little quick tramp of feet behind, tempting John now and then to wave his whip good-humouredly over their heads, and warn them that he would “come down the next time.” But John, who came from Maidlin Cross himself, never came down; and Violet and Katie, peering out of the window on either side, nodded to the heads of their respective factions, and whispered to each other, who was at school, and who was “gathering stanes,” as they passed, band after band--some with books and slates, some girded with their great work-aprons, returning from the field. From the open doors at Maidlin Cross, the pleasant firelight shines out upon the road, reddening its sprinkled snow; and figures stand in the doorways, dark against the cheery light within; and voices ring, clear and sharp, through the air. The carriage, now deserted by its band of attendants, begins to grow rather dreary as it advances into the darkness, and Agnes does not speak, and Katie and Violet cannot see each other’s faces; but they are quite cheered and revived, so long as they can hear the far-off sound of those voices at Maidlin Cross. And by the fireside Martha and Rose sit very silently. A faint sound comes from the river, and the wind whistles shrill among the leafless trees; but except these, and now and then an occasional noise from the kitchen, where Dragon has been summoned in to sit with Mysie and her companion, that there may be “a man in the house,” there is perfect stillness within and without. They are both working--you would think they never do anything but work--and both are absorbed and lost in their own thoughts. When at rare intervals they speak, it is to wonder how far Harry will be by this time, and what he will see in London, and when he will return; but they do not say to each other that they tremble for Harry, nor tell what distinct remembrances arise before them both, of the sad scenes of the past; yet now and then a sudden start, and quick look round this cheerful room, discover to you that they have forgotten where they are for the moment, and that the dim walls of Mrs. Rodger’s parlour, the proper background of many a recalled grief, are more clearly present before them, than this brighter and more prosperous place.