Anyway, it gave me a taste for fields. I shall go down to this pretty little Hockington place right away, and finish the business at once. It’s too enticing to risk anything over."
"Just what I should have suggested all along," replied the partner. "Then if the things are scattered you may be able to pick up a few. What shall we write the fellow?"
Mr. Lester thought for a moment, considering the matter from its unromantic side.
"I'll drop him a line by the next post that there's practically no market for these things, but if he'll send a few more along as samples we'll see what can be done. That'll keep him going. Then I'll be on the spot—not connected with L. and S., mind you, but just a leisurely passing tourist with a fishing-rod or a golf-club, see?—and you may call me a descendant of Manasseh the Unlucky if I don't bring it off."
Late the following afternoon, as a remarkably pretty and rustically picturesque maiden was leaning over the gate of One Tree Cottage, a portly middle-aged gentleman, whose white hat and fancy waistcoat proclaimed his determination to wear a holiday air (despite the fact that he looked as little in keeping with a country lane as a columbine would be at a Quakers' meeting), stopped before her and inquired the distance to Hockington.
"About a mile, sir," replied the damsel with an artless curtsy—a thing Mr. Lester had hitherto believed to be extinct—"or rather more. Straight on."
"Dear, dear me," groaned Mr. Lester. He had, indeed, already walked three times that distance through misdirection. "These country miles are very long, my dear. Do you think that you could make me a cup of tea—for payment, of course?"
"Oh, yes, sir," she replied brightly. "We were think-
