Below Bow Bridge a row of narrow-headed stepping-stones are regularly placed across the river with their noses pointing up stream. The current sets thin lines of light trickling away, where the stones break its surface. Above the crossing, trees overhang the water and throw shadows to break the white sheen of stickles and the flash of foam; beneath the stepping-stones the channel widens and flows forward to the estuary. A dead tree had fallen here and upon one bough, overhanging a still pool, sat a kingfisher, like a spark of blue fire against the grey and umber colours spread round him. Beyond, where the stream bent eastward, there rose a fir-clad hill, and at water’s brink stood cottages with irregular thatched roofs. Their white-washed faces represented the highest light of the scene and were a centre and focus for that rural picture. Beside the stepping-stones Ned Dingle sat and smoked his pipe. The water at his feet had run fine after a spell of dry weather, and there was only the motion of the lazy stream, broken now and then by a small fish. White ducks paddled close by in a shallow, where the afternoon sunshine turned the water to liquid amber and made the birds golden bright. Ned thought of an autumn day, when he had landed not far off with Kellock and Medora at the boathouse; and he retraced all the months between. He was in melancholy mood and as yet had not determined on his future actions; but he had seen Matthew Trenchard, given notice and left the Mill. The master was sympathetic and friendly. He accepted the situation and on this Saturday, as Dingle awaited others at the stepping-stones, the beaterman reflected that his activities at Dene were ended. He was now about to seek work elsewhere. On Monday, Kellock would return, and Mrs. Trivett reported that Jordan had already taken rooms for the present at “The Waterman’s Arms,” a little inn standing up the valley between Dene and Ashprington, at Bow Bridge. Dingle still failed to grasp the extent of the disaster that had overtaken him. His moods alternated between wrath and grief and bewilderment at his loss. Mrs. Trivett supported him frankly and she introduced an element of mystery into the scandal, for she continued to declare it was not in Kellock’s character to do this thing. Even the fact that he had done it was powerless to alter her reiterated assertion. She never greatly blamed Kellock, even when others pointed out that men do not run away with other men’s wives on compulsion; and one fact she never ceased to dwell upon, which comforted Dingle in a negative sort of fashion.