In ceaseless bright procession past the shallows, Talking its quick inconsequence. The friends, Warmed by the gallop on the unfenced fallows, Felt it a kindlier thing to make amends. "A jolly burst," said Michael; "here it ends. Your way lies straight beyond the water. There. Watch for the lights, and keep those two stars as they bear." Something august was quick in all that sky, Wheeling in multitudinous march with fire; The falling of the wind brought it more nigh, They felt the earth take solace and respire; The horses shifted foothold in the mire, Splashing and making eddies. Lion spoke: "Do you remember riding past the haunted oak "That Christmas Eve, when all the bells were ringing, So that we picked out seven churches’ bells, Ringing the night, and people carol-singing? It hummed and died away and rose in swells Like a sea breaking. We have been through hells Since then, we two, and now this being here Brings all that Christmas back, and makes it strangely near." "Yes," Michael answered, "they were happy times, Riding beyond there; but a man needs change; I know what they connote, those Christmas chimes, Fudge in the heart, and pudding in the grange. It stifles me all that; I need the range, Like this before us, open to the sky; There every wing is clipped, but here a man can fly." "Ah," said his friend, "man only flies in youth, A few short years at most, until he finds That even quiet is a form of truth, And all the rest a coloured rag that blinds. Life offers nothing but contented minds. Some day you’ll know it, Michael. I am grieved That Mary’s heart will pay until I am believed." There was a silence while the water dripped From the raised muzzles champing on the steel. Flogging the crannied banks the water lipped. Night up above them turned her starry wheel; And each man feared to let the other feel How much he felt; they fenced; they put up bars. The moon made heaven pale among the withering stars. "Michael," said Lion, "why should we two part? Ride on with me; or shall we both return, Make preparation, and to-morrow start, And travel home together? You would learn How much the people long to see you; turn. We will ride back and say good-bye, and then Sail, and see home again, and see the Shropshire men, "And see the old Shropshire mountain and the fair, Full of drunk Welshmen bringing mountain ewes; And partridge shooting would be starting there." Michael hung down his head and seemed to choose. The horses churned fresh footing in the ooze. Then Michael asked if Tom were still alive, Old Tom, who fought the Welshman under Upton Drive, For nineteen rounds, on grass, with the bare hands? "Shaky," said Lion, "living still, but weak; Almost past speaking, but he understands." "And old Shon Shones we teased so with the leek?" "Dead." "When?" "December." Michael did not speak, But muttered "Old Jones dead." A minute passed. "What came to little Sue, his girl?" he said at last.