golf engagement; but when I walked
to the Inn I found no driver available. So, rather than be disagreeable,
I sent word to the curate that our match was postponed, and accepted the
alternative.

Frances, rather to my surprise, seemed more pleased than otherwise to
find that I was to be her coachman. Instead of occupying the rear seat
she climbed to that beside me.

"Good-by, Auntie," she called to Hephzy, who was standing in
the doorway. "Sorry you're not going. I'll take good care of Mr.
Knowles--Uncle Hosea, I mean. I'll see that he behaves himself and,"
with a glance at my, I fear, not too radiant visage, "doesn't break any
of his venerable bones."

The road, like all English roads which I traveled, was as firm and
smooth as a table, the day was fine, the hedges were green and fragrant,
the larks sang, and the flocks of sheep in the wayside pastures were
picturesque as always. "Pet," who had led an easy life since we came to
the rectory, was in high spirits and stepped along in lively fashion. My
companion, too, was in good spirits and chatted and laughed as she had
not done with me since I knew her.

Altogether it was a delightful ride. I found myself emerging from my
shell and chatting and joking quite unlike the elderly quahaug I was
supposed to be. We passed a party of young fellows on a walking tour,
knapsacked and knickerbockered, and the admiring glances they passed
at my passenger were flattering. They envied me, that was plain. Well,
under different circumstances, I could conceive myself an object of
envy. A dozen years younger, with the heart of youth and the comeliness
of youth, I might have thought myself lucky to be driving along such a
road with such a vision by my side. And, the best of it was, the vision
treated me as if I really were her own age. I squared my shoulders and
as Hephzy would have said, "perked up" amazingly.

We entered Wrayton and moved along the main street between the rows of
ancient buildings, past the old stone church with its inevitable and
always welcome gray, ivy-draped tower, to the quaint old square with the
statue of William Pitt in its center. My companion, all at once, seemed
to become aware of her surroundings.

"Why!" she exclaimed, "we are here, aren't we? Fancy! I expected a
longer drive."

"So did I," I agreed. "We haven't hurried, either. Where has the time
gone."

"I don't know. We have been so busy talking that I have thought of
nothing else. Really, I d