She now looked older than her husband, and she did not smile at him, as the man had done, as she held out her worn, thin hand.
"A deal has happened," she said slowly, "since you went away." "Yes," said Radmore, "a deal has happened, Mrs.Cobbett; but Beechfield seems unchanged, I cannot see any difference at all." "Hearts are changed," she said in a strange voice.
For the first time since he had been in Beechfield, Radmore felt a tremor of real discomfort run through him.
He looked up at the mantelpiece.

It was bare save for the photographs, in cheap frames, of two stolid-looking lads, whom he vaguely remembered.
"Those your boys ?" he asked kindly, and then, making an effort of memory of which he felt harmlessly proud, he said:--"Let me see, one was Peter and the other was Paul, eh?
I hope they're all right, Mrs.Cobbett ?" "In a sense, sir," she said apathetically.

"I do believe they are.

They was both killed within a month of one another--first Paul, then Pete, as we called him--so Mr.Cobbett and I be very lonely now." As Radmore and Timmy walked away from the post-office, Radmore said a trifle ruefully:--"I wish, Timmy, you had told me about those poor people's sons.

I'm afraid--I suppose--that a good many boys never came back to Beechfield." He now felt that everything was indeed changed in the lovely, peaceful little Surrey village.
"I expect," said Timmy thoughtfully, "that the most sensible thing you could do"-- (he avoided calling Radmore by name, not knowing whether he was expected to address him as "godfather," "Godfrey," or "Major Radmore")--"before we see anybody else, would be to take a look at the Shrine.