her. Broken bottles and
scraps of paper were defacing the hill turf, and when she turned to get
to the water's edge she found the rushy coverts trampled on every side.
From somewhere among the trees came the sound of singing--a silly
music-hall catch. It was a sharp surprise, and the girl, in horror at
the profanation, was turning in all haste to leave.

But the Fates had prepared an adventure. Three half-tipsy men came
swinging down the slope, their arms linked together, and bowlers set
rakishly on the backs of their heads. They kept up the chorus of the
song which was being sung elsewhere, and they suited their rolling gait
to the measure.

"For it ain't Maria," came the tender melody; and the reassuring phrase
was repeated a dozen times. Then by ill-luck they caught sight of the
astonished Alice, and dropping their musical efforts they hailed her
familiarly. Clearly they were the stragglers of some picnic from the
town, the engaging type of gentleman who on such occasions is drunk by
midday. They were dressed in ill-fitting Sunday clothes, great flowers
beamed from their button-holes, and after the fashion of their kind
their waistcoats were unbuttoned for comfort. The girl tried to go back
by the way she had come, but to her horror she found that she was
intercepted. The three gentlemen commanded her retreat.

They seemed comparatively sober, so she tried entreaty. "Please, let me
pass," she said pleasantly. "I find I have taken the wrong road."

"No, you haven't, dearie," said one of the men, who from a superior
neatness of apparel might have been a clerk. "You've come the right
road, for you've met us. And now you're not going away." And he came
forward with a protecting arm.

Alice, genuinely frightened, tried to cross the stream and escape by the
other side. But the crossing was difficult, and she slipped at the
outset and wet her ankles. One of the three lurched into the water
after her, and withdrew with sundry oaths.

The poor girl was in sad perplexity. Before was an ugly rush of water
and a leap beyond her strength; behind, three drunken men, their mouths
full of endearment and scurrility. She looked despairingly to the level
white road for the Perseus who should deliver her.

And to her joy the deliverer was not wanting. In the thick of the idiot
shouting of the trio there came the clink-clank of a horse's feet and a
young man came over the bridge. He saw the picture at a glance and its
meaning; an