"Some of them, I think, will not be at all particular respecting the time of my visits. There is the white rock by the falls which I must give an hour to; and I must see if the old trout who lived under it has taken as good care of himself during my absence as he did before I went away. And there is the willow grove, too, which I wish very much to see."
"It has been cut down."
"Cut down!—what for?"
"Mr. Bullard thought it interfered with his prospect."
"Why did you not interfere, cousin?" turning to Emily.
"It was nothing to me what he did with his grove," said Emily.
"Oh, I had forgotten—" George did not finish the sentence. He turned the conversation to some of the ordinary topics of the day.
After breakfast, he set out for Willow Brook, and seated himself upon the white rock. The years that had passed since in childhood he sat upon that rock, were reviewed by him. Though he had met with trials and temptations, yet he was thankful that he could return to that rock with so many of the feelings of childhood; that his heart's best emotions had not been polluted by the world, but were as yet pure as the crystal stream before him.
When he rose from that rock, instead of visiting the other haunts of his early days, he found himself moving toward the village. Now and then a familiar face was seen. By those who recognized him, he was warmly greeted. It was not until he met a stranger that he inquired for the residence of the widow and her niece. He was directed to a small dwelling in a narrow lane. He knocked at the open door. The widow, who was busily employed in smoothing the white linen before her, bade him enter, but paused not from her work.
"Is Eliza at home?" said Mason.