ny's guide-book.' I told him of a modest
set of ruins out our way. I couldn't well come with him in any
direction, north, south, or east or west, as he seemed to think I
could. I might get in five days between Sunday and Sunday, if he
chose our own neighborhood. He seemed glad enough to agree.

We cut food down and loads, and we started. We camped within the
precincts of the shrine, hard by a place where a fire-fused
chalice had been dug out. Ours was a fair camping-ground. A ring
of kopjes about it wore the sun's colors. To the east a spruit
was in sight, overhung in that autumn month by the mists of
morning. Within those precincts we dreamed some temple-dreams on
two golden afternoons, and slept temple-sleep on two very shiny
nights.

'My reformed pilgrimage has justified itself,' Vine told me on
the morning that we left, when we were making for my station.

'Wait a bit,' I said. 'We are arriving if all falls well, this
very night at another shrine. We have not done with our Pilgrims'
Way.'

That night we came to the farm-house where the Kents farmed and
missionized. I had expected Vine to like it and them, but I had
not guessed how much attracted he would be. The Kents were not
up-to-date, and they dressed as some people dressed in England
twenty-five years before in the period of their leaving home.

So Mrs. Kent wore on that night a chocolate-brown Liberty costume
of a Burne Jones pattern. Miss Kent was only twenty-two, and wore
rose-color, but the design of her dress was her mother's own.
Kent wore an eighties collar with old-oak plaid and a red tie, I
did not like his taste.

Vine sat and watched them with a reverential sort of gaze. He
asked Kent when they were going home, thoughtfully. But Kent told
him that they did not think of going home again, only up the
coast to Zanzibar, or down to Inhambane, when they wanted change
and holiday. 'That's splendid,' said Vine emphatically. 'Don't go
home. It's not what it used to be. I feel sure you would not like
it.'

After supper we had music, and Kent kept on singing, at Vine's
particular request. I did not take much notice of what he was
singing till Vine came and spoke to me. Then I saw how excited he
was, and I listened with attention.

'Do you remember that?' he said. 'It was the song that Oriel man
used to sing.' Then I recognized 'Our Last Waltz,' and afterwards
'In Sweet September.' I remembered both as the songs of a man
whose wedding we both had a