"Shall we go past the vicarage?" asked Mr. Bell.
"No, not yet. We will go this way, and make a round so as to come back by it," said Margaret.
Here and there old trees had been felled the autumn before; or a squatter's cottage roughly-built and decaying cottage had disappeared. Margaret missed them each and all, and grieved over them like old friends. They came past the spot where she and Mr. Lennox had sketched. The white, lightning-scarred trunk of the venerable beech, among whose roots they had sate down was there no more; the old man, the inhabitant of the ruinous cottage, was dead; the cottage had been pulled down, and a new one, tidy and respectable, had been built in its stead. There was a small garden on the place where the beech-tree had been.
"I did not think I had been so old," said Margaret after a pause of silence; and she turned away sighing.

'Shall we go to the vicarage?' asked Mr. Bell.
'No, not yet. We will go this way, and come back by it.'
Here and there old trees had been felled; or a decaying cottage had disappeared. Margaret grieved over them like old friends. They came past the spot where she and Mr. Lennox had sketched. The white, lightning-scarred trunk of the venerable beech where they had sat down was there no more; the old man who lived in the ruinous cottage was dead; the cottage had been pulled down, and a new one built. There was a small garden where the beech-tree had been.
'I did not think I was so old,' said Margaret after a pause.
