road, and wound away between great trees.

"Yon's your way," nodded the Waggoner, pointing along the high road,
"Dapplemere village lies over yonder, 'bout a mile."

"Thank you very much," said Bellew, "but I don't want the village."

"No?" enquired the Waggoner, scratching his head.

"Certainly not," answered Bellew.

"Then--what do ye want?"

"Oh well, I'll just go on lying here, and see what turns up,--so drive
on, like the good fellow you are."

"Can't be done!" said the Waggoner.

"Why not?"

"Why, since you ax me--because I don't have to drive no farther. There
be the farm-house,--over the up-land yonder, you can't see it because o'
the trees, but there it be."

So, Bellew sighed resignedly, and, perforce, climbed down into the road.

"What do I owe you?" he enquired.

"Owe me!" said the Waggoner, staring.

"For the ride, and the--er--very necessary exercise you afforded me."

"Lord!" cried the Waggoner with a sudden, great laugh, "you don't owe me
nothin' for that,--not nohow,--I owe you one for a knocking of me into
that ditch, back yonder, though, to be sure, I did give ye one or two
good 'uns, didn't I?"

"You certainly did!" answered Bellew smiling, and he held out his hand.

"Hey!--what be this?" cried the Waggoner, staring down at the bright
five-shilling piece in his palm.

"Well, I rather think it's five shillings," said Bellew. "It's big
enough, heaven knows. English money is all O.K., I suppose, but it's
confoundedly confusing, and rather heavy to drag around if you happen to
have enough of it--"

"Ah!" nodded the Waggoner, "but then nobody never _has_ enough of
it,--leastways, I never knowed nobody as had. Good-bye, sir! and
thankee, and--good luck!" saying which, the Waggoner chirrupped to his
horses, slipped the coin into his pocket, nodded, and the waggon creaked
and rumbled up the lane.

Bellew strolled along the road, breathing an air fragrant with
honey-suckle from the hedges, and full of the song of birds; pausing,
now and then, to listen to the blythe carol of a sky-lark, or the rich;
sweet notes of a black-bird, and feeling that it was indeed, good to be
alive; so that, what with all this,--the springy turf beneath his feet,
and the blue expanse over-head, he began to whistle for very joy of it,
until, remembering the Haunting Shadow of the Might Have Been, he
checked himself, and sighed instead. Presently, turning from the road,
he climbed a stile, and followed a narro