CHAPTER VII.
SHOCK AND SORROW There's not a bonnie flower that springs By fountain, shaw, or green, There's not a bonnie bird that sings, But minds me of my Jean.
Only a child of Nature's rarest making, Wistful and sweet--and with a heart for breaking.
Life is a great school and its lessons go on continually.

Now and then perhaps we have a vacation--a period in which all appears to be at rest--but in this very placidity there are often bred the storms that are to trouble and perhaps renew us.

For some time after the departure of Harry and his bride, John's life appeared to flow in a smooth but busy routine.

Between the mill and Harlow House, he found the days all too short for the love and business with which they were filled.

And Mrs.Hatton missed greatly the happy and confidential conversations that had hitherto made her life with her son so intimate and so affectionate.
Early in the spring John began the building of his own home, and this necessarily required some daily attention, especially as he had designs in his mind which were unusual to the local builders, and which seemed to them well worthy of being quietly passed over.