Then out into the road again, where I encountered the ostler. Yes, he, too, had seen a wench banging about, a bonnie lass to be sure. "Dark?" "Well, middling, betwixt and between like." "Tall?" "Nay, nowt to speik on, more on th' plumpish line." "Which way had she gone?" He couldn't say for sewer. Happen up th' sheep-track o'er Pots and Pans; there were a deal o' fo'k took that gait for Bill's o' Jacks; but they'd more breath to waste nor him, or they'd stick to th' road; what were roads for, he should like to know but walking on and riding on; he'd no patience wi' fo'k climbing up watter courses like goats; but he'd see'd th' lass starin' abaat as if oo'd lost someb'dy, and then he'd gone into th' stable, and then he saw her no more. "Doubtless her felly'd turned up, if it were a felly she were waitin' for." And that was all I could get out of the ostler. There was nothing for it now but to make what haste I could to Wrigley Mill. Mary would be in a rare taking, her teacakes and her temper alike spoiled; but little that would matter when I held my Miriam's hand close clasped in mine, all my disappointment and my anxious fears and my wonderings forgot in that first moment of our glad meeting. But even as I gained the mill yard I knew there was to be no meeting, for in the gloom I made out both Mrs. Haigh and Ruth stood at the gate of the little garden, evidently looking eagerly out into the gathering darkness of the early night. "Where's Miriam?" I cried, and "Where's Miriam?" they replied. Jim came to the door, his coat and vest doffed, his big, brawny arms, his broad chest bare, in his hands a coarse towel with which he was vigorously drying himself after his swill at the sink. "Well, yo'n muddled it among yo'," he commented when I had told my story and Ruth hers, which was very similar. "But there's one thing certain: Miriam's none been near th' Church Inn this afternooin. Nah other she were let startin', or what's every way likely, oo fun hersen wi' plenty o' time on her hands an' oo's gone forrard towards th' Pole thinkin' to meet Ruth here an' save her a journey. But speckilation wi' nowt to go on's a fooil's job, an' worritin' on a empty stomach's waur still. Let's get summat into us, and then we'll wisen. Nay, Ruth, lass, dunnot look as if tha'd seen a ghost, an' Abe, aw'm ashamed on thee! Just because a lass hasn't turned up to time. Aw'll bet thee a pinch o' snuff Miriam's at this varry minnit snug and comfortable other at Mr. Buckley's or at th' Pole, an' what we'n got to do is just to mak' ussen snug and comfortable too." But it was no use. I couldn't eat a morsel, though both Mary and Ruth tried to show a brave face and to talk cheerfully, 'twas plain to see their ears were all the time at strain for the lifting of the sneck of the garden gate and the fall of a light foot on the little footpath to the door.