e most pitiful
tomfoolery. Two calves rubbing noses through a gate were natural and
right and within the order of things; but that human beings, with
salient interests and active pursuits beckoning them on from every side,
could thus--! Well, it was a thing to hurry past, shamed of face,
and think on no more. But this morning everything I met seemed to be
accounted for and set in tune by that same magical touch in the air;
and it was with a certain surprise that I found myself regarding these
fatuous ones with kindliness instead of contempt, as I rambled by,
unheeded of them. There was indeed some reconciling influence abroad,
which could bring the like antics into harmony with bud and growth and
the frolic air.

A puff on the right cheek from my wilful companion sent me off at
a fresh angle, and presently I came in sight of the village church,
sitting solitary within its circle of elms. From forth the vestry
window projected two small legs, gyrating, hungry for foothold, with
larceny--not to say sacrilege--in their every wriggle: a godless sight
for a supporter of the Establishment. Though the rest was hidden, I knew
the legs well enough; they were usually attached to the body of Bill
Saunders, the peerless bad boy of the village. Bill's coveted booty,
too, I could easily guess at that; it came from the Vicar's store
of biscuits, kept (as I knew) in a cupboard along with his official
trappings.

For a moment I hesitated; then I passed on my way. I protest I was not
on Bill's side; but then, neither was I on the Vicar's, and there was
something in this immoral morning which seemed to say that perhaps,
after all, Bill had as much right to the biscuits as the Vicar, and
would certainly enjoy them better; and anyhow it was a disputable point,
and no business of mine. Nature, who had accepted me for ally, cared
little who had the world's biscuits, and assuredly was not going to let
any friend of hers waste his time in playing policeman for Society.

He was tugging at me anew, my insistent guide; and I felt sure, as I
rambled off in his wake, that he had more holiday matter to show me. And
so, indeed, he had; and all of it was to the same lawless tune. Like a
black pirate flag on the blue ocean of air, a hawk hung ominous; then,
plummet-wise, dropped to the hedgerow, whence there rose, thin and
shrill, a piteous voice of squealing.

By the time I got there a whisk of feathers on the turf--like scattered
playbills--was a