"The name of a queen," I said aloud.

"Go on," said the girl.

"Of Charles's queen," said I, "of whom Waller the poet (for the English
also have their poets, though in this respect far inferior to the
Basques)--of whom, I say, Waller the poet said:

That she was Queen was the Creator's act,
Belated man could but endorse the fact."

"I say!" cried the girl. "How you do go on!"

"So now," said I, "since I have shown you that you are a queen you will
surely give me a choomer"--this being a kiss in Romany talk.

"I'll give you one on the ear-hole," she cried.

"Then I will wrestle with you," said I. "If you should chance to put me
down, I will do penance by teaching you the Armenian alphabet--the very
word alphabet, as you will perceive, shows us that our letters came from
Greece. If, on the other hand, I should chance to put you down, you will
give me a choomer."

I had got so far, and she was climbing the stile with some pretence of
getting away from me, when there came a van along the road, belonging, as
I discovered, to a baker in Swinehurst. The horse, which was of a brown
colour, was such as is bred in the New Forest, being somewhat under
fifteen hands and of a hairy, ill-kempt variety. As I know less than the
master about horses, I will say no more of this horse, save to repeat
that its colour was brown--nor indeed had the horse or the horse's colour
anything to do with my narrative. I might add, however, that it could
either be taken as a small horse or as a large pony, being somewhat tall
for the one, but undersized for the other. I have now said enough about
this horse, which has nothing to do with my story, and I will turn my
attention to the driver.

This was a man with a broad, florid face and brown side-whiskers. He was
of a stout build and had rounded shoulders, with a small mole of a
reddish colour over his left eyebrow. His jacket was of velveteen, and
he had large, iron-shod boots, which were perched upon the splashboard in
front of him. He pulled up the van as he came up to the stile near which
I was standing with the maiden who had come from the dingle, and in a
civil fashion he asked me if I could oblige him with a light for his
pipe. Then, as I drew a matchbox from my pocket, he threw his reins over
the splashboard, and removing his large, iron-shod boots he descended on
to the road. He was a burly man, but inclined to fat and scant of
breath. It seemed to me that it wa