The sound of workmen was to be already heard as he drew near to the mill. There were men there pulling the thatch off the building, and there were carts and horses bringing laths, lime, bricks, and timber, and taking the old rubbish away. As he crossed quickly by the slippery stones he saw old Jacob Brattle standing before the mill looking on, with his hands in his breeches pockets. He was too old to do much at such work as this,--work to which he was not accustomed--and was looking up in a sad melancholy way, as though it were a work of destruction, and not one of reparation. "We shall have you here as smart as possible before long, Mr. Brattle," said the parson. "I don't know much about smart, Muster Fenwick. The old place was a'most tumbling down,--but still it would have lasted out my time, I'm thinking. If t' Squire would 'a done it fifteen years ago, I'd 'a thanked un; but I don't know what to say about it now, and this time of year and all, just when the new grist would be coming in. If t' Squire would 'a thought of it in June, now. But things is contrary--a'most allays so." After this speech, which was made in a low, droning voice, bit by bit, the miller took himself off and went into the house. At the back of the mill, perched on an old projecting beam, in the midst of dust and dirt, assisting with all the energy of youth in the demolition of the roof, Mr. Fenwick saw Sam Brattle. He perceived at once that Sam had seen him; but the young man immediately averted his eyes and went on with his work. The parson did not speak at once, but stepped over the ruins around him till he came immediately under the beam in question. Then he called to the lad, and Sam was constrained to answer "Yes, Mr. Fenwick, I am here;--hard at work, as you see." "I do see it, and wish you luck with your job. Spare me ten minutes, and come down and speak to me." "I am in such a muck now, Mr. Fenwick, that I do wish to go on with it, if you'll let me." But Mr. Fenwick, having taken so much trouble to get at the young man, was not going to be put off in this way. "Never mind your muck for a quarter of an hour," he said. "I have come here on purpose to find you, and I must speak to you." "Must!" said Sam, looking down with a very angry lower on his face. "Yes,--must. Don't be a fool now. You know that I do not wish to injure you. You are not such a coward as to be afraid to speak to me. Come down." "Afeard! Who talks of being afeard? Stop a moment, Mr. Fenwick, and I'll be with you;--not that I think it will do any good." Then slowly he crept back along the beam and came down through the interior of the building. "What is it, Mr. Fenwick? Here I am. I ain't a bit afeard of you at any rate." "Where have you been the last fortnight, Sam?" "What right have you to ask me, Mr. Fenwick?" "I have the right of old friendship, and perhaps also some right from my remembrance of the last place in which I saw you. What has become of that man, Burrows?"