e pulled out his flask. "Have some--you'd better."

Amaryllis with a little tender wrinkle somewhere in her beauty, laughed
in his face.

"Do I look," she asked, "as if I needed Dutch courage?"

Colour of skin and splendour of eye answered their own question.

"You _look_ top-hole," he said. "But you've had a heavy call on your
strength."

"What about you, then?" and she touched her left cheek, meaning his.
"One like that," she said, "and I should have been in bed for a
month--or dead."

"Pepe said I was to keep on feeding you," he continued, passing over, as
he always did, she observed, her reference to himself, "and there's been
no chance but that beer and cheese. I meant to stuff you again at 'The
George.'"

On their left, in the very outskirts of Ecclesthorpe, was a little stone
house, roofed with stone slabs, and surrounded with gardens, bee-hives
and flowers. Upon a wooden arch connecting its stone gate-posts was
written "Cyclists' Rest. Tea, Minerals."

"Um!" said Dick. "'Minerals' always makes me think of museums, but it
only means ginger-pop and wuss. Tea's the thing, if brandy isn't."

He pushed the gate open; the hinges screamed, and a young woman came to
the door of the cottage. As they went towards her through hives and
wallflowers,

"How the bees do bumble!" said Amaryllis.

"Pot o' fresh tea, miss," said Bunce to the round-faced, soft-eyed girl
at the door. "And pikelets and parkin an' anything you've got to hand.
We've nobbut ten minutes now forth to eat an' drink."

He put two half-crowns on the table.

"An' Ah'll never take change, my dear," he added, "so be 'tis ready in
three."

In two and a half they were drinking it, Bunce-like, from the saucers;
and Amaryllis once more in danger of the giggles.

"Ma lass and self, miss," said Bunce, between gulps, "be footin' it to
Harthborough Junction. Bain't there a train, five summat wi' another
five in it?"

"Five fifteen," said the girl. "Lunnon way."

"That'll be it. We're takin' 't easy-like o'er moor. Now, Ah do call to
mind there be a track to left, some way down t' ro'd, as'll take 'ee
gentle and pleasant 'tween two gradely hummocks down into Harthborough.
But how far out o' Ecclesthorpe that track takes off the pike, I can't
bring to mind. 'Tis not a ro'd proper but indistink like an' wanderin'.
So Ah be feared o' missin' it."

"T' owd Drovers' Track, tha meanst. 'Tis easy findin'," said the girl.
"Thou turn'st off to left by tw