Chapter I. Outside Dorlcote Mill

pace,andthearchofthecoveredwagondisappearsattheturningbehindthetrees. NowIcanturnmyeyestowardthemillagain,andwatchtheunrestingwheelsendingoutitsdiamondjetsofwater.ThatlittlegirliswatchingittooshehasbeenstandingonjustthesamespotattheedgeofthewatereversinceIpausedonthebridge.Andthatqueerwhitecurwiththebrownearseemstobeleapingandbarkinginineffectualremonstrancewiththewheelperhapsheisjealousbecausehisplayfellowinthebeaverbonnetissoraptinitsmovement.Itistimethelittleplayfellowwentin,Ithinkandthereisaverybrightfiretotempther:theredlightshinesoutunderthedeepeninggrayofthesky.Itistime,too,formetoleaveoffrestingmyarmsonthecoldstoneofthisbridge.... Ah,myarmsarereallybenumbed.Ihavebeenpressingmyelbowsonthearmsofmychair,anddreamingthatIwasstandingonthebridgeinfrontofDorlcoteMill,asitlookedoneFebruaryafternoonmanyyearsago.BeforeIdozedoff,IwasgoingtotellyouwhatMrandMrsTulliverweretalkingabout,astheysatbythebrightfireintheleft-handparlour,onthatveryafternoonIhavebeendreamingof.