c-house--I remember its name, the Half
a Face--and must have journeyed a mile or so beyond it when the end
came. We had locked wheels in the clumsiest fashion with a
hay-wagon; and the wagoner, who had quartered to give us room and to
spare, was pardonably wroth. Mr. Jope descended, pacified him, and
stepped around to the back of the coach, the hinder axle of which, a
moment later, I felt gently lifted beneath me and slewed clear of the
obstruction.

"My word, mister, but you've a tidy strength!" exclaimed the wagoner.

"No more than you, my son--if so much: 'tain't the strength, but the
application. That's 'Nelson's touch.' Ever heard of it?"

"I've heard of _him_, I should hope. Look y' here, mister, did you
ever know him? Honour bright, now!"

"Friends, my son: dear, dear friends! And the gentleman 'pon the
box, there, drunk some of the very rum he was brought home in.
He's never recovered it."

"And to think of my meeting you!"

"Ay, 'tis a small world," agreed Mr. Jope cheerfully: "like a cook's
galley, small and cosy and no time to chat in it. Now then, my
slumb'ring ogre!"

The driver, who from the moment of the mishap had remained comatose,
shook his reins feebly and we jogged forward. But this was his last
effort. At the next sharp bend in the road he lurched suddenly,
swayed for a moment, and toppled to earth with a thud. The horse
came to a halt.

Mr. Jope was out in a moment. He glanced up and down the road.

"Tumble out, youngster! There's no one in sight."

"Is--is he hurt?"

"Blest if _I_ know." He stooped over the prostrate body. "Hurt?" he
asked, and after a moment reported, "No, I reckon not: talkin' in his
sleep, more like--for the only word I can make out is 'Jezebel.'
That don't help us much, do it?" He scanned the road again.
"There's only one thing to do. I can't drive ye: I never steered yet
with the tiller lines in front--it al'ays seemed to me un-Christian.
We must take to the fields. I used to know these parts, and by the
bearings we can't be half a mile above the ferry. Here, through that
gate to the left!"

We left the man lying and his horse cropping the hedgerow a few paces
ahead; and struck off to the left, down across a field of young corn
interspersed with poppies. The broad estuary shone at our feet, with
its beaches uncovered--for the tide was low--and across its crowded
shipping I marked and recognised (for Mr. Trapp had often described
them to me