Adam came down and set to work again, saying to himself, “I won’t open the door again.  It’s no use staring about to catch sight of a sound.  Maybe there’s a world about us as we can’t see, but th’ ear’s quicker than the eye and catches a sound from’t now and then.  Some people think they get a sight on’t too, but they’re mostly folks whose eyes are not much use to ’em at anything else.  For my part, I think it’s better to see when your perpendicular’s true than to see a ghost.”

Such thoughts as these are apt to grow stronger and stronger as daylight quenches the candles and the birds begin to sing.  By the time the red sunlight shone on the brass nails that formed the initials on the lid of the coffin, any lingering foreboding from the sound of the willow wand was merged in satisfaction that the work was done and the promise redeemed.  There was no need to call Seth, for he was already moving overhead, and presently came downstairs.

“Now, lad,” said Adam, as Seth made his appearance, “the coffin’s done, and we can take it over to Brox’on, and be back again before half after six.  I’ll take a mouthful o’ oat-cake, and then we’ll be off.”

The coffin was soon propped on the tall shoulders of the two brothers, and they were making their way, followed close by Gyp, out of the little woodyard into the lane at the back of the house.  It was but about a mile and a half to Broxton over the opposite slope, and their road wound very pleasantly along lanes and across fields, where the pale woodbines and the dog-roses were scenting the hedgerows, and the birds were twittering and trilling in the tall leafy boughs of oak and elm.  It was a strangely mingled picture—­the fresh youth of the summer morning, with its Edenlike peace and loveliness, the stalwart strength of the two brothers in their rusty working clothes, and the long coffin on their shoulders.  They paused for the last time before a small farmhouse outside the village of Broxton.  By six o’clock the task was done the coffin nailed down, and Adam and Seth were on their way home.  They chose a shorter way homewards, which would take them across the fields and the brook in front of the house.  Adam had not mentioned to Seth what had happened in the night, but he still retained sufficient impression from it himself to say, “Seth, lad, if Father isn’t come home by the time we’ve had our breakfast, I think it’ll be as well for thee to go over to Treddles’on and look after him, and thee canst get me the brass wire I want.  Never mind about losing an hour at thy work; we can make that up.  What dost say?”

“I’m willing,” said Seth.  “But see what clouds have gathered since we set out.  I’m thinking we shall have more rain.  It’ll be a sore time for th’ haymaking if the meadows are flooded again.  The brook’s fine and full now:  another day’s rain ’ud cover the plank, and we should have to go round by the road.”

They were coming across the valley now, and had entered the pasture through which the brook ran.