Wolf wondered vaguely in what part of the churchyard his predecessor’s body lay⁠—that hiding-place without a headstone! He also wondered whether by some stroke of good luck he should get a glimpse of that submissive clergyman, satirically styled “Tilly-Valley,” pottering about the place.

But the church remained lonely and unfrequented at that midmorning hour. Nothing moved there but a heavy rack of dark-grey, windblown clouds, sailing swiftly above the four foliated pinnacles that rose from the corners of the tower. Close to the church he perceived what was evidently the parsonage; but there was no sign of life there either.

The cottages grew more scattered now. Some of them were really small dairy-farms, through the gates of whose muddy yards he could see pigs and poultry, and sometimes a young bull or an excited flock of geese.