The day was filled with fair remembrances of summer, and the earth
was golden and red; and the sky was folded in lawny clouds, which the
breeze was lifting, revealing beautiful spaces of blue. All the
abundant hedgerows were red with the leaf of the wild cherry, and the
oak woods wore masses of sere and russet leafage. Spreading beeches
swept right down to the road, shining in beautiful death; once a
pheasant rose and flew through the polished trunks towards the yellow
underwood. Sprays trembled on naked rods, ferns and grasses fell
about the gurgling watercourses, a motley undergrowth; and in the
fields long teams were ploughing, the man labouring at the plough,
the boy with the horses; and their smock-frocks and galligaskins
recalled an ancient England which time has not touched, and which
lives in them. And the farm-houses of gables and weary brick,
sometimes well-dismantled and showing the heavy beam, accentuated
these visions of past days. Yes, indeed, the brick villages, the old
gray farm-houses, and the windmill were very beautiful in the endless
yellow draperies which this autumn country wore so romantically. One
spot lingered in Mike's memory, so representative did it seem of that
country. The road swept round a beech wood that clothed a knoll,
descending into the open country by a tall redding hedge to a sudden
river, and cows were seen drinking and wading in the shallows, and
this last impression of the earth's loveliness smote the poet's heart
to joy which was near to grief.

At Three Bridges they had lunch, in an old-fashioned hotel called the
George. Muchross cut the sirloin, filling the plates so full of juicy
meat that the ladies protested. Snowdown paid for champagne, and in
conjunction with the wine, the indelicate stories which he narrated
made some small invasion upon the reserve of the bar-girls; for their
admirers did not dare forbid them the wine, and could not prevent
them from smiling. After lunch the gang was photographed in the
garden, and Muchross gave the village flautist half a "quid," making
him promise to drink their healths till he was "blind."

"I never like to leave a place without having done some good," he
shouted, as he scrambled into his seat.

This sentiment was applauded until the sensual torpor of digestion
intervened. The clamour of the coach lapsed into a hush of voices.
The women leaned back, drawing their rugs about their knees, for it
was turning chilly, arms were passed