th approached Mike.

"Having inspired confidence," he said, "by the docility of our
demeanour, let us slip away, and brood apart for awhile. Roman camps,
to be absolutely accurate, give me the pip. And I never want to see
another putrid fossil in my life. Let us find some shady nook where a
man may lie on his back for a bit."

Mike, over whom the proceedings connected with the Roman camp had long
since begun to shed a blue depression, offered no opposition, and they
strolled away down the hill.

Looking back, they saw that the archaeologists were still hard at it.
Their departure had passed unnoticed.

"A fatiguing pursuit, this grubbing for mementoes of the past," said
Psmith. "And, above all, dashed bad for the knees of the trousers.
Mine are like some furrowed field. It's a great grief to a man of
refinement, I can tell you, Comrade Jackson. Ah, this looks a likely
spot."

They had passed through a gate into the field beyond. At the further
end there was a brook, shaded by trees and running with a pleasant
sound over pebbles.

"Thus far," said Psmith, hitching up the knees of his trousers, and
sitting down, "and no farther. We will rest here awhile, and listen to
the music of the brook. In fact, unless you have anything important to
say, I rather think I'll go to sleep. In this busy life of ours these
naps by the wayside are invaluable. Call me in about an hour." And
Psmith, heaving the comfortable sigh of the worker who by toil has
earned rest, lay down, with his head against a mossy tree-stump, and
closed his eyes.

Mike sat on for a few minutes, listening to the water and making
centuries in his mind, and then, finding this a little dull, he got
up, jumped the brook, and began to explore the wood on the other side.

He had not gone many yards when a dog emerged suddenly from the
undergrowth, and began to bark vigorously at him.

Mike liked dogs, and, on acquaintance, they always liked him. But when
you meet a dog in some one else's wood, it is as well not to stop in
order that you may get to understand each other. Mike began to thread
his way back through the trees.

He was too late.

"Stop! What the dickens are you doing here?" shouted a voice behind
him.

In the same situation a few years before, Mike would have carried on,
and trusted to speed to save him. But now there seemed a lack of
dignity in the action. He came back to where the man was standing.

"I'm sorry if I'm trespassing," he said.