light and shade, its mystery and silence. The forest spoke then in an unknown tongue, but it was then I first heard its voice.
We could not hurry: it was too beautiful, and when we came to an old-time coaching-inn with grassy paddocks by the blue river we stopped. Transome saw to the horses while I went to negotiate rooms. The place seemed utterly deserted though the doors stood wide. After a time the landlord appeared. He was of a rueful countenance. His wife, he said, “Was gone visitin’.” She had made up the beds before departing, but there was nothing in the house to eat.
“There’s not many comes this way now the railway’s running,” said mine host.
I cheerfully suggested eggs and tea would do us quite well. A still deeper gloom descended on him.
“There ain’t any hens,” said he.
“Cheese,” I remarked with shaking heart.
“Cheese and bread, and tea.”
“Haven’t any cheese in the house, and only the bit bread she left me before she went.”
We seemed to have struck bed-rock. A rattle of wheels sounded from the road, and at this critical moment a spring-cart drove up. Was it indeed another guest? With great deliberation the lady in it descended, and advanced, smiling, to meet us. She carried a basket, and there seemed to be things in the cart besides. Then she remarked: “When I saw you pass our place a little way back, I says to my husband, ‘Mark my
