, in spite of his long expatriation, he loathes being
conspicuous in any way as heartily as other Englishmen do. But (Mrs.
Norton has told me) he saved Young Nick from being murdered by someone
who was a "family enemy." Since then--it was when Nick was scarcely more
than a child--the brown image has worshipped the Dragon, and refused to
be separated from him. When Sir Lionel proposed providing for him well,
and leaving him behind, Nick made no complaints, but began industriously
to starve himself to death. So, of course, he had to be brought to
England, and his master just makes the best of him, costume, features,
broomstick legs, and all.

We had tea in a picture of Turner's: for Littlehampton, with its tidal
river, its harbour and pier, its fishing boats and shining sails, its
windmill, its goldy-brown sands, and its banked violet clouds, was a
genuine Turner. Of course, he wouldn't have painted the Beach Hotel, in
spite of its nice balconies, but we were glad it was there, and it
didn't spoil the picture.

By that time, it was nearly half-past five, but we had hours of daylight
before us, so we stopped for a look at Climping Church (don't you love
the "ing" that shows a place has kept its Saxon name?) with its splendid
Norman doorway and queer, long windows, shaped like open pods of peas
beautifully ornamented round their edges. Thank goodness, there was
nothing "perp" about it! I get so tired of "perp" things in guide books.

Slinden we glanced at, too, a most idyllic village, garrisoned with the
noblest beeches I ever saw. Hilaire Belloc, whose "Path to Rome" we
liked so much, stayed at Slinden, writing delightful things about
Sussex. I mean to get and read all I can, because, even in the glimpse
I've had, I can see that Sussex has a character, as well as a charm,
individually its own. The Downs give it, and make you feel that a true
man of Sussex would be frank, warm-hearted, simple and brave, with
old-fashioned ways which, with a pleasant obstinacy, he would be loath
to change. I heard Mrs. Tupper quote two or three quaint proverbs which
were new to me, but Sir Lionel said they were old, almost, as the Sussex
downs, and as racy of the soil. I always associated Brighton with
Sussex, which made it seem a sophisticated county: but you see, _true_
Sussex--the Downs--stands all independent and sturdy, between the
pleasure-places by the sea and the snug Weald.

The faces we passed didn't look like faces descended fr