It was called The Loke.

Neither popular tradition nor antiquarian research could explain what the name meant, or could tell when the name had been given.

"We call it The Loke; they do say no fish can live in it; and it dirties the clean salt water when it runs into the sea." Such was the character of the river in the estimation of the people who knew it best.

But I was pleased to see The Loke again.
The ugly river, like the woodland glade, looked at me with the face of an old friend.
On my right hand side rose the venerable timbers of the water-mill.
The wheel was motionless, at that time of night; and the whole structure looked--as remembered objects will look, when we see them again after a long interval--smaller than I had supposed it to be.

Otherwise, I could discover no change in the mill.