But there was his family name to go by--Dyson; did any one remember a farmer Dyson in the village?
He was told that it was not an uncommon name in that part of the country.

There were no Dysons now in Thorpe, but some fifteen or twenty years ago one of that name had been the tenant of Long Meadow Farm in the parish.

The name of the farm was unfamiliar, and when he visited the place he found it was not the one he sought.
It was a grievous disappointment.

A new sense of loneliness oppressed him; for that bright image in his mind, with the feeling about his home, had been a secret source of comfort and happiness, and was like a companion, a dear human friend, and now he appeared to be on the point of losing it.

Could it be that all that mental picture, with the details that seemed so true to life, was purely imaginary?
He could not believe it; the old house had probably been pulled down, the big trees felled, orchard and hedges grabbed up--all the old features obliterated--and the land thrown into some larger neighbouring farm.