Spring came round again and the warm days of June.

At Easter time David had made no further attempts to meet with Jenny Crum on her midnight wanderings.

The whole tendency of his winter's mental growth, as well perhaps of the matters brutally raised and crudely sifted in Jerry Timmins's parlour, had been towards a harder and more sceptical habit of mind.

For the moment the supernatural had no thrill in it for an intelligence full of contradictions.

So the poor witch, if indeed she 'walked,' revisited her place of pain unobserved of mortal eye.
About the middle of June David and his uncle went, as usual, to Kettlewell and Masholme, in Yorkshire, for the purpose of bringing home from thence some of that hardier breed of sheep which was required for the moorland, a Scotch breed brought down yearly to the Yorkshire markets by the Lowland farmers beyond the border.
This expedition was an annual matter, and most of the farmers in the Kinder Valley and thereabouts joined in it.