expedition--and, morally considered, it
was not exactly a Pilgrim's Progress--she might go and tell; she
having just reached that disagreeable age when one begins to develop a
conscience. Charlotte, for her part, had a habit of day-dreams, and was
as likely as not to fall overboard in one of her rapt musings. To be
sure, she would dissolve in tears when she found herself left out; but
even that was better than a watery tomb. In fine, the public voice--and
rightly, perhaps--was against the admission of the skirted animal: spite
the precedent of Atalanta, who was one of the original crew.

"And now," said Edward, "who's to ask Farmer Larkin? I can't; last time
I saw him he said when he caught me again he'd smack my head. YOU'LL
have to."

I hesitated, for good reasons. "You know those precious calves of his?"
I began.

Edward understood at once. "All right," he said; "then we won't ask him
at all. It doesn't much matter. He'd only be annoyed, and that would be
a pity. Now let's set off."

We made our way down to the stream, and captured the farmer's boat
without let or hindrance, the enemy being engaged in the hayfields. This
"river," so called, could never be discovered by us in any atlas; indeed
our Argo could hardly turn in it without risk of shipwreck. But to us 't
was Orinoco, and the cities of the world dotted its shores. We put the
Argo's head up stream, since that led away from the Larkin province;
Harold was faithfully permitted to be Jason, and we shared the rest of
the heroes among us. Then launching forth from Thessaly, we threaded
the Hellespont with shouts, breathlessly dodged the Clashing Rocks, and
coasted under the lee of the Siren-haunted isles. Lemnos was fringed
with meadow-sweet, dog-roses dotted the Mysian shore, and the cheery
call of the haymaking folk sounded along the coast of Thrace.

After some hour or two's seafaring, the prow of the Argo embedded itself
in the mud of a landing-place, plashy with the tread of cows and giving
on to a lane that led towards the smoke of human habitations. Edward
jumped ashore, alert for exploration, and strode off without waiting
to see if we followed; but I lingered behind, having caught sight of
a moss-grown water-gate hard by, leading into a garden that from
the brooding quiet lapping it round, appeared to portend magical
possibilities.

Indeed the very air within seemed stiller, as we circumspectly passed
through the gate; and Harold hung back shamefac