What shall we have? Ought it not to be bread
and cheese and beer? But if you will excuse me,
I would rather not have beer. I know that it
sounds well to ask for it—as far as that
goes, I will ask for it willingly—but I
have never been able to drink it in any comfort.
I think I shall have a gin and ginger. That also
sounds well. More important still, it drinks
well; in fact, the only thing which I don’t
like about it is the gin. “Oh, good morning.
We want some bread and cheese, please, and one pint
of beer, and a gin and ginger. And—er—you
might leave out the gin.” Yes, of course,
I could have asked straight off for a plain ginger
beer, but that sounds so very mild. My way I
use the word “gin” twice. Let us be
dashing on this brave day.
After lunch a pipe, while we consider where to go
next.
It is anywhere you like, you know. To the north
there is Greymoor Wood, and we pass a windmill; and
to the east there is the little village of Colesford
which has a church without a steeple; and to the west
we go quite near another wind pump; and to the south—well,
we should have to cross the line pretty soon.
That brings us into touch with civilization; we do
not want that just yet. So the north again let
it be....
This is Greymoor Wood. Yes; there is a footpath
marked right through it, but footpaths are hard to
see beneath such a carpet of dead leaves. I dare
say we shall lose ourselves. One false step and
we are off the line of dots. There you are, there’s
a dot missing. We have lost the track. Now
we must get out as best we can.
Do you know the way of telling the north by the sun?
You turn the hour hand of your watch to the sun, and
half-way between that and the XII is the south.
Or else you turn the XII to the sun and take half-way
between that and the hour hand. Anyhow you do
find the south eventually after one or two experiments,
and having discovered the south it is easy enough
to locate the north. With your permission then
we will push due north through Greymoor Wood.
We are through and on the road, but it is getting
late. I et us hurry on. It would be tempting
to wander down to that stream and follow its banks
for a little; it would be pleasant to turn into that
“unmetalled, unfenced” road—ah,
doesn’t one know those roads?—and
let it carry us to the village of Milden, rich in both
telegraph office and steeple. There is also,
no more than two miles from where we stand, a contour
of 600 ft.—shall we make for the view at
the top of that? But no, perhaps you are right.
We had best be getting home now. It is growing
chilly; the sun has gone in; if we lost ourselves
again, we could never find the north. Let us make
for the nearest station. Widdington, isn’t
it? Three miles away....
There! Now we’re home again. And must
you really get on with your work? Well, but it
has been a jolly day, hasn’t it?
