lightful to see new places and fresh roads. Seaton was
in the midst of a beautiful district, and there were charming villages,
woods, and lovely views of scenery within easy distance.

One Saturday, when for a wonder there was no event at school, Miss Beach
suddenly suggested that they should start in the car, take a luncheon
basket with them, and explore some of the country in the neighborhood.
It was a glorious spring morning, with a clear pale blue sky, and a
touch of warmth in the sunshine that set winter to flight, and brought
the buds out on the trees. On such a day the human sap, too, seems to
rise, there is an exhilaration, physical and spiritual, when we long to
run or to sing for the sheer vital joy of living, when our troubles
don't seem to matter, and the future looks rosy, and for the moment we
feel transferred to the golden age of the poets, when the world was
young, and Pan played his pipes in the meadows among the asphodels.
Winona, at any rate, was in an ecstatic frame of mind, and though Aunt
Harriet did not openly express her enthusiasm, the mere fact of her
suggesting such an outing proved that the spring had called her, and
that she was ready to go out and worship at Nature's shrine. Do not
imagine for a moment that Miss Beach, whatever her feelings, allowed any
romantic element to appear on the surface. She fussed over the car,
measured the amount of petrol left in the tank, debated whether she had
better go to the garage for an extra can in case of emergencies, called
out the cook to dust the seat, sent the housemaid flying to the attic
for an air-cushion, inspected the lunch basket, gave half-a-dozen
directions for things to be done in her absence, wrote last messages on
a slate for people who might possibly call on business, scolded Winona
for putting on her thin coat, and sent her to fetch her thick one and a
rug for her knees, and finally, after a very breathless ten minutes got
under way, and started forth. They drove slowly through the town
traffic, but soon they had left streets behind, and were spinning along
the high road in the direction of Wickborough.

Long as she had lived at Seaton, Miss Beach had never seen Wickborough
Castle, and to-day she was determined to pay it a visit. It was a very
ancient place, built originally by King Canute, in the days when red war
was waged between Saxon and Norseman. Little of the old Danish tower
remained, but successive generations had erected keep a