They passed over the road that crosses the river at the head of Newlands, and turned down into the path that follows the bed of the valley. At that angle there stands a little group of cottages deliciously cool in their whitewash, nestling together under the heavy purple crag from which the waters of a ghyll fall into a deep basin that reaches to their walls. The last of the group is a cottage with its end to the road, and its open porch facing a garden shaped like a wedge. As the children passed this house an old man, gray and thin and much bent, stood by the gate, leaning on a staff. A collie, with the sheep's dog wooden bar suspended from its shaggy neck, lay at his feet. The hum of voices brought a young woman into the porch. She was bareheaded and wore a light print gown. Her face was pale and marked with lines. She walked cautiously, stretching one hand before her with an uncertain motion, and grasping a trailing tendril of honeysuckle that swept downward from the roof. Her eyes, which were partly inclined upward and partly turned toward the procession, had a vague light in their bleached pupils. She was blind. At her side, and tugging at her other hand, was a child of a year and a half--a chubby, sunny little fellow with ruddy cheeks, blue eyes, and fair curly hair. Prattling, laughing, singing snatches, and waving their rushes and ferns above their happy, thoughtless heads, the children rattled past. When they were gone the air was empty, as it is when the lark stops in its song. After the procession of children had passed the little cottage at the angle of the roads, the old man who leaned on his staff at the gate turned about and stepped to the porch. "Did the boy see them?--did he see the children?" said the young woman who held the child by the hand. "I mak' na doot," said the old man. He stooped to the little one and held out one long withered finger. The soft baby hand closed on it instantly. "Did he laugh? I thought he laughed," said the young woman. A bright smile played on her lips. "Maybe so, lass." "Ralphie has never seen the children before, father. Didn't he look frightened--just a little bit frightened--at first, you know? I thought he crept behind my gown." "Maybe, maybe." The little one had dropped the hand of his young mother, and, still holding the bony finger of his grandfather, he toddled beside him into the house. Very cool and sweet was the kitchen, with white-washed walls and hard earthen floor. A table and a settle stood by the window, and a dresser that was an armory of bright pewter dishes, trenchers, and piggins, crossed the opposite wall. "Nay, but sista here, laal lad," said the old man, and he dived into a great pocket at his side. "Have you brought it? Is it the kitten? Oh, dear, let the boy see it!" A kitten came out of the old man's pocket, and was set down on the rug at the hearth. The timid creature sat dazed, then raised itself on its hind legs and mewed.