longish way--a longish way--with ten year more to run.
It's South across the water underneath a setting star.
(_What you cannot finish you must leave undone!_)

How far is St. Helena from the Beresina ice?
An ill way--a chill way--the ice begins to crack.
But not so far for gentlemen who never took advice.
(_When you can't go forward you must e'en come back!_)

How far is St. Helena from the field of Waterloo?
A near way--a clear way--the ship will take you soon.
A pleasant place for gentlemen with little left to do.
(_Morning never tries you till the afternoon!_)

How far from St. Helena to the Gate of Heaven's Grace?
That no one knows--that no one knows--and no one ever will.
But fold your hands across your heart and cover up your face,
And after all your trapesings, child, lie still!

'A Priest in Spite of Himself'

The day after they came home from the sea-side they set out on a tour of
inspection to make sure everything was as they had left it. Soon they
discovered that old Hobden had blocked their best hedge-gaps with stakes
and thorn-bundles, and had trimmed up the hedges where the blackberries
were setting.

'It can't be time for the gipsies to come along,' said Una. 'Why, it was
summer only the other day!'

'There's smoke in Low Shaw!' said Dan, sniffing. 'Let's make sure!'

They crossed the fields towards the thin line of blue smoke that leaned
above the hollow of Low Shaw which lies beside the King's Hill road. It
used to be an old quarry till somebody planted it, and you can look
straight down into it from the edge of Banky Meadow.

'I thought so,' Dan whispered, as they came up to the fence at the edge
of the larches. A gipsy-van--not the showman's sort, but the old black
kind, with little windows high up and a baby-gate across the door--was
getting ready to leave. A man was harnessing the horses; an old woman
crouched over the ashes of a fire made out of broken fence-rails; and a
girl sat on the van-steps singing to a baby on her lap. A wise-looking,
thin dog snuffed at a patch of fur on the ground till the old woman put
it carefully in the middle of the fire. The girl reached back inside the
van and tossed her a paper parcel. This was laid on the fire too, and
they smelt singed feathers.

'Chicken feathers!' said Dan. 'I wonder if they are old Hobden's.'

Una sneezed. The dog growled and crawled to the girl's feet,