'm afraid your calves weren't made for
those gaiters."

"I admit they don't fit as well as your stockings, but--"

"Norval."

"Madam?"

"Behave yourself."

"Very good, madam. By the way, what about my wages?"

"What do you suggest? I shan't object to anything reasonable."

"No? Well, I was getting eleven-three a yar--day in my last place, and
all found--especially all."

"'All found''s rather a dangerous phrase."

"Not at all. It only means washing and beer and the English papers,
when you've done with them, and meat on Sundays. A smile, too, when
I'm tired, and a word of thanks after seventy miles in the rain with a
head wind."

"It might cover a multitude of sins, Norval."

Here I saved a dog's life and passed two wagons before their drivers
had had time to inspire the horses with the terror they felt
themselves. Then:

"All found's all right, if you know your man," said I.

"But I don't."

I caught her laughing eyes in the windscreen, and straightway drank to
them from an imaginary wine-glass. She smiled gently, and the eyes
looked away with the look that sees at once not at all and yet
farthest. She was gazing down the vista of memory.

"Then it's a compact," I said quietly. "Sealed with a drink."

"I never drank to you this time, Norval."

"Yes, you did," said I. "Only with thine eyes, doll beautiful."

"You forget yourself."

"I remember you. You were wearing a black and gold dress. Sweet you
looked."

She turned away and pointed to a church we were leaving on our right.

"That," she said, "is a church."

"You amaze me. I thought it was a swimming-bath."

She bit the lip that wanted to smile.

"To return to you, who are my mutton, I wish this road wasn't so
narrow. I can't look at you except in the screen."

"We first met in a looking-glass."

"True. But now I want something more--more tangible."

"Indeed?"

I glanced down. "At any rate, I've got your feet, bless them. I shall
compose a sonnet to them, beautiful doll."

"And I'll write an epic about yours."

Five minutes passed. "How's the epic going?" said I.

"I've only done four lines."

"Let's have them."

"The beetling beetle-crushing baulks of boots
Crashed on their thunderous way, while men-at-arms,
Who knew no fear, shuddered and crossed themselves,
And little children whimpered with a fright
Too fierce for tears."

"Very good," said I. "Now you shall have mine.

I thought