"Uncle George rebuilt Greenfields from the ground," remarked Doll, as they crossed the high road and took to the harvesting fields, where "the ricks stood gray to the sun." Hugh nodded.

Doll thought he was a very decent chap, though rather low-spirited.

Hugh thought that if Mr.George Loftus had been alive he might have consulted him.

In an amicable silence, broken occasionally by whistling for Crack, who hurried blear-eyed and asthmatic out of rabbit-holes, the pair reached Beaumere; and, after following the path through the wood, came suddenly upon the little lake locked in the heart of the steeply climbing forest.
Doll stood still and pointed with his stick for fear Hugh might overlook it.

"I come here every Sunday," he remarked.
A sense of unreality and foreboding seized on Hugh, as the still face of the water looked up at him.