g sun in view,
reaching the crest as it dipped to meet a ragged tor, and sank in a
golden glow. A little wind, like a tired sigh, ruffled the tops of the
heather, swayed the grass an instant, and was gone.

"Ah-h-h!" breathed the Indiarubber Man in the stillness.

A thousand feet below us smoke was curling from the thickly wooded
valley. It was five miles away, but somewhere amid those trees men
brewed and women baked.

"Come on," he added tensely. "Beer!"

As we descended into the lowlands a widening circle of night was
stealing up into the sky--the blue-grey and purple of a pigeon's
breast. A single star appeared in the western sky, intensifying the
peace of the silent moor behind us. Stumbling through twilit woods and
across fields of young barley, we met a great dog-fox _en route_ for
someone's poultry-run. He bared his teeth with angry effrontery as he
sheered off and gave us a wide berth across the darkening fields.
Doubtless he claimed his supremacy of hour and place, as did the
sheep-dog that passed us so joyously earlier in the day. And, after
all, what were we but interlopers from a lower plane!

The thirty-odd miles of our ramble reeled up like a tape-measure as we
reached the lane, splashed with moonlight, that led us to the village.
The gateway to every field held a pair of lovers whispering among the
shadows: yet inexplicably they seemed an adjunct of their surroundings
and the faintly bewildering night-scents. A dog sitting at the gate of
a cottage uttered a short bark as we neared his domain; then, with a
queer grumbling whimper, he came to us across the dust, and perhaps
because--as far as is given to man in his imperfections--we had not
wittingly done evil that day, he slobbered at our hands.

In the flagged and wainscotted parlour of the village inn a child
brought us bread and cheese and froth-crested mugs of beer. While we
ate and drank, she watched us with tranquil interest in violet-coloured
eyes that foretold a sleepless night for some bucolic swain in years to
come.

The Indiarubber Man finished his last draught and stood up with a
mighty sigh to loosen his belt. Then, bending down, he took the
child's flower-like face between his hands:

"'Now lettest Thou Thy servant depart in peace,'" he said gravely.
Beer was ever prone to lend a certain smack of Scripture to his remarks.

"Surt'nly," said the little maid, all uncomprehending, and ran out to
fetch our reckoning.