‘Oh, I’ll be good.  I’ll be good.’  Her voice changed suddenly.  ’I swear I’ll try to be good, dear.  I’m not much of a thing at the best.  What made you....’

‘I’m worse—­worse!  Miles and oceans worse.  But what does it matter now?’

They halted beside the gate-pillars.

‘I see!’ she said, looking up the sodden carriage sweep to the front door porch where Rhoda was slapping a wet mat to and fro. ’I see....  Now, I really must go home.  No!  Don’t you come.  I must speak to Mother first all by myself.’

He watched her up the hill till she was out of sight.

     THE FLOODS

     The rain it rains without a stay
       In the hills above us, in the hills;
     And presently the floods break way
       Whose strength is in the hills. 
     The trees they suck from every cloud,
     The valley brooks they roar aloud—­
     Bank-high for the lowlands, lowlands,
       Lowlands under the hills!

     The first wood down is sere and small,
       From the hills, the brishings off the hills;
     And then come by the bats and all
       We cut last year in the hills;
     And then the roots we tried to cleave
     But found too tough and had to leave—­
     Polting through the lowlands, lowlands,
       Lowlands under the hills!

     The eye shall look, the ear shall hark
       To the hills, the doings in the hills,
     And rivers mating in the dark
       With tokens from the hills. 
     Now what is weak will surely go,
     And what is strong must prove it so. 
     Stand fast in the lowlands, lowlands,
       Lowlands under the hills!

     The floods they shall not be afraid—­
       Nor the hills above ’em, nor the hills—­
     Of any fence which man has made
       Betwixt him and the hills. 
     The waters shall not reckon twice
     For any work of man’s device,
     But bid it down to the lowlands, lowlands,
       Lowlands under the hills!

     The floods shall sweep corruption clean—­
       By the hills, the blessing of the hills—­
     That more the meadows may be green
       New-amended from the hills. 
     The crops and cattle shall increase,
     Nor little children shall not cease—­
     Go—­plough the lowlands, lowlands,
       Lowlands under the hills!

     THE FABULISTS

     When all the world would have a matter hid,
       Since Truth is seldom friend to any crowd,
     Men write in fable, as old AEsop did,
       Jesting at that which none will name aloud. 
     And this they needs must do, or it will fall
     Unless they please they are not heard at all.

     When desperate Folly daily laboureth
       To work confusion upon all we have,
     When diligent Sloth demandeth Freedom’s death,
       And banded Fear commandeth Honour’s grave—­
     Even in that certain hour before the fall
     Unless men please they are not heard at all.