of you and my contempt for Jonah. I have much more to say, but I
have, thank Heaven, something better to do than to communicate with a
debauched connection, whose pleasure has ever been my pain, and from
whom I have learned more vicious ways than I can remember. For I am by
nature a little child. Just before and after rain you may still see
traces of the halo which I bought at Eastbourne in '94. My gorge is
rising, so I must write no more._

_BERRY._

"What's muscular rheumatism?" said Jill, gurgling with laughter.

"Your muscles get stiff," said Jonah, "and you get stuck. Hurts like
anything. I've had it."

"Now you know," said I, selecting a sausage. "Will you be ready by
hall-past eleven (winter time) or must we lunch here?"

"I'm ready now," said Jill. "But you and Jonah said it was indecent to
start earlier."

"So it is. We shall get to Pistol comfortably in an hour and a half, and
if we start again at half-past two, we shall be in London for tea."

Jonah rose and limped to the window.

"I'll tell you one thing," he said. "It's going to be a devilish cold
run."

* * * * *

Jonah was right.

We sat all three upon the front seat, but even so we were hard put to it
to keep warm. The prospect of a hot lunch at Pistol was pleasant indeed.
Jonah was driving, and the Rolls slid through the country like a great
grey bird, sailing and swooping and swerving so gracefully that it was
difficult to believe the tale which the speedometer told. Yet this was
true enough, for it was not a quarter to one when we swept round the
last corner and into the long straight reach of tarmac, at the top of
which lay the village we sought.

Pistol is embedded in a high moor, snug and warm, for all its eminence.
The moor itself is girt with waving woods that stretch and toss for
miles, making a deep sloping sash of foliage which Autumn will dye with
such grave glory that the late loss of Summer and her pretty ways seems
easier to bear. Orange and purple copper and gold, russet and
crimson--these in a hundred tones tremble and glow in one giant harmony,
out of which, at the release of sun, come swelling chords so deep and
rich and vivid that the sweet air is quick with stifled music and every
passing breeze charged to the full with silent melody.

We had left this girdle of woodland behind us and were within half a
mile of the village, when some activity about the gates of a private
house attracted