"That's zettled. I'm glad you be coming zoon; the colour of the young grass be wonderful." "Indeed!" remarked Mavis, as she looked at him, surprised. "That's the advantage of varming," continued Trivett: "you zee natur in zo many colours and zo many moods." Thus talking, they reached the churchyard gates, where Mavis released Jill, who was delighted at being set at liberty. Mavis said goodbye to Trivett and recrossed the churchyard on her way to the river. As she walked, she wondered at Trivett's strange conjunction of pursuits; also, if he were as good a farmer as he was a musician. She found the part of the river nearest to the church crowded with holiday bathers, so turned aside in the direction of her nook, where she was tolerably certain of getting quiet. Arrived there, she found her expectation was not belied. She felt dazed and tired with the emotions she had experienced; she reclined on the ground to look lazily at the beauty spread so bountifully about her. Nature was now at her best. She was like a fair young mother radiant with the joys attaching to the birth of her firstborn. The striking of the quarter on the church clock was borne to her on the light wind; she heard a rumble and caught a glimpse through the young foliage of the white panelled carriages of a train speeding to Weymouth. She settled herself for a repose of suspended thought, thankful that there was no prospect of her peace being interfered with. She had not lain long when she was disturbed by a plashing of water, at which Jill was vigorously barking. She raised her head to see a man swimming; her eyes were fascinated by the whiteness of the man's flesh. After a while, he returned, to pass and repass her two or three times. Then, to her consternation, he approached the bank near to where she lay. She sat up; a few moments later, the man's head and shoulders appeared among the grasses upon the river bank. "Good morning," said the man. Mavis took no notice, but called to Jill. "Good morning," repeated the man, who was young and pleasant-looking. Mavis did not reply. "Would little Mavis mind moving a little further up the bank?" continued the man. Mavis looked at him in astonished anger. "Because I can't get to my clothes until you do." Mavis got up, called to Jill, and turned her back on the nook, wondering how on earth the man could have known her name; also, why he had the impertinence to address her so familiarly. She did not get very far, because, call as she might to Jill, the spoiled dog took no notice of her summons, but remained about the place that her mistress had left. Mavis called vainly for some minutes, till, at last, Jill appeared, carrying the man's collar in her mouth. Mavis tried to induce the dog to come to her, but, instead, Jill raced madly round and round, delighted with her find.