“What’s your home, Renny?” she asked, by and by.
“A mill,” I answered, “but nothing is ground there now.”
She stopped and so did I, and she looked at me curiously, with her red lips parted, so that her teeth twinkled.
“What’s the matter?” said I.
“Nothing,” she said, “only I remember an old, old saying that the woman told me.”
“What woman?” I asked, in wonder, but she took no notice of my question, only repeated some queer doggerel that ran somewhat as follows:
“Where the mill race is
Come and go faces.
Once deeds of violence;
Now dust and silence.