His project was quite approved at the Farm when he went there on Saturday evening.  Mrs. Poyser desired him emphatically not to come back without Hetty, for she had been quite too long away, considering the things she had to get ready by the middle of March, and a week was surely enough for any one to go out for their health.  As for Dinah, Mrs. Poyser had small hope of their bringing her, unless they could make her believe the folks at Hayslope were twice as miserable as the folks at Snowfield.  “Though,” said Mrs. Poyser, by way of conclusion, “you might tell her she’s got but one aunt left, and she’s wasted pretty nigh to a shadder; and we shall p’rhaps all be gone twenty mile farther off her next Michaelmas, and shall die o’ broken hearts among strange folks, and leave the children fatherless and motherless.”

“Nay, nay,” said Mr. Poyser, who certainly had the air of a man perfectly heart-whole, “it isna so bad as that.  Thee’t looking rarely now, and getting flesh every day.  But I’d be glad for Dinah t’ come, for she’d help thee wi’ the little uns:  they took t’ her wonderful.”

So at daybreak, on Sunday, Adam set off.  Seth went with him the first mile or two, for the thought of Snowfield and the possibility that Dinah might come again made him restless, and the walk with Adam in the cold morning air, both in their best clothes, helped to give him a sense of Sunday calm.  It was the last morning in February, with a low grey sky, and a slight hoar-frost on the green border of the road and on the black hedges.  They heard the gurgling of the full brooklet hurrying down the hill, and the faint twittering of the early birds.  For they walked in silence, though with a pleased sense of companionship.

“Good-bye, lad,” said Adam, laying his hand on Seth’s shoulder and looking at him affectionately as they were about to part.  “I wish thee wast going all the way wi’ me, and as happy as I am.”

“I’m content, Addy, I’m content,” said Seth cheerfully.  “I’ll be an old bachelor, belike, and make a fuss wi’ thy children.”

The’y turned away from each other, and Seth walked leisurely homeward, mentally repeating one of his favourite hymns—­he was very fond of hymns: 

     Dark and cheerless is the morn
     Unaccompanied by thee: 
     Joyless is the day’s return
     Till thy mercy’s beams I see: 
     Till thou inward light impart,
     Glad my eyes and warm my heart.

     Visit, then, this soul of mine,
     Pierce the gloom of sin and grief—­
     Fill me, Radiancy Divine,
     Scatter all my unbelief. 
     More and more thyself display,
     Shining to the perfect day.