Slowly the riders walked their horses now, looking at it all. Slowly passed one mill after another with its straggling tenements for toil and discontent. Getting beyond these, and higher up the valley, new signs began to appear. Mills are mills indeed, and own no kindred with beauty. But along the slopes of the Hollow, behind and between the mill buildings, were tokens of life. Numbers of new cottages were risen, and rising, on the upper slopes of the banks, the new village even flowing over the crest of the hill upon the level land above. Most were of gray stone; some were frame houses painted white; each one that was finished having a space of ground enclosed within a little paling fence. You could see indications of change everywhere. Here some of the old huts were taking down, leaving room for new erections; there, certain old rubbish heaps had disappeared; the people they met seemed to wear a different air and to step more alertly. Further up the valley and close upon the roadway Hazel could see a building going up which was clearly no mill cottage; it was much too large. The cottages indeed were of different sizes, to suit different families and different tastes; this however was another affair. Low stone walls of considerably extent were getting a roof put on; the windows were large and many; yet it had hardly the look of a church. Builders and teamsters were at work over all this part of the valley. The bright eyes had been very intent, the tokens of excitement in either cheek growing deeper and more defined; clearly, for Wych Hazel, Morton Hollow had changed names. But absorbed in her scrutiny she had given neither word nor look to anything but the Hollow. Now she suddenly turned to her companion. 'What is that for?' she said. 'A church?' 'Not exactly. But given better wages and houses to live in—what is the next step you would take in dealing with a very ignorant community, whom you wished to raise to a higher level?' 'Teach them, I suppose. Then is that your reading-room, Mr. Rollo?' 'Hitherto—I will shew you where I read,' he said, suddenly breaking off. And dismounting, he came to Wych Hazel and took her down, ordering the horses forward to the bend. They went then to the door of one of the mills near at hand and Rollo whistled. The door opening, they were admitted to a great, long, low room, at the back of which bales were stowed from floor to ceiling. A large space was more or less filled with bales standing about; evidently on the move, either to be hoisted away for use or stowed up like the rest for keeping. 'Here is my place,' said Rollo. 'When Saturday night comes, all is made snug as the deck of a frigate; this part of the floor is cleared and supplied with benches; I have lamps hung from the rafters, and yonder I stand on a cotton bale. Do you know what I do it for?— not mount a cotton bale, I mean, but what for I have gone into the whole thing?'