erel plodded along the road, in order to skirt Enckworth
before the carrier came up. Reaching the top of a hill on their way,
they paused to look down on a peaceful scene. It was a park and wood,
glowing in all the matchless colours of late autumn, parapets and
pediments peering out from a central position afar. At the bottom of the
descent before them was a lodge, to which they now descended. The gate
stood invitingly open. Exclusiveness was no part of the owner's
instincts: one could see that at a glance. No appearance of a
well-rolled garden-path attached to the park-drive; as is the case with
many, betokening by the perfection of their surfaces their proprietor's
deficiency in hospitality. The approach was like a turnpike road full of
great ruts, clumsy mendings; bordered by trampled edges and incursions
upon the grass at pleasure. Butchers and bakers drove as freely herein
as peers and peeresses. Christening parties, wedding companies, and
funeral trains passed along by the doors of the mansion without check or
question. A wild untidiness in this particular has its recommendations;
for guarded grounds ever convey a suspicion that their owner is young to
landed possessions, as religious earnestnesss implies newness of
conversion, and conjugal tenderness recent marriage.

Half-an-hour being wanting as yet to Chickerel's time with the carrier,
Sol and himself, like the rest of the world when at leisure, walked into
the extensive stretch of grass and grove. It formed a park so large that
not one of its owners had ever wished it larger, not one of its owner's
rivals had ever failed to wish it smaller, and not one of its owner's
satellites had ever seen it without praise. They somewhat avoided the
roadway passing under the huge, misshapen, ragged trees, and through fern
brakes, ruddy and crisp in their decay. On reaching a suitable eminence,
the father and son stood still to look upon the many-chimneyed building,
or rather conglomeration of buildings, to which these groves and glades
formed a setting.

'We will just give a glance,' said Chickerel, 'and then go away. It
don't seem well to me that Ethelberta should have this; it is too much.
The sudden change will do her no good. I never believe in anything that
comes in the shape of wonderful luck. As it comes, so it goes. Had she
been brought home today to one of those tenant-farms instead of these
woods and walls, I could have called it good fortune. W