entered the little inn, and after a glance at its
larder, ordered the whole contents to be brought out and placed within a
honeysuckle arbour which he spied in the angle of a bowling-green at the
rear of the house.

In addition to the ordinary condiments of loaf and butter and eggs and
milk and tea, the board soon groaned beneath the weight of pigeon-pie,
cold ribs of beef, and shoulder of mutton, remains of a feast which the
members of a monthly rustic club had held there the day before. Tom ate
little at first; but example is contagious, and gradually he vied with
his companion in the diminution of the solid viands before him. Then he
called for brandy.

"No," said Kenelm. "No, Tom; you have promised me friendship, and that
is not compatible with brandy. Brandy is the worst enemy a man like
you can have; and would make you quarrel even with me. If you want a
stimulus I allow you a pipe. I don't smoke myself, as a rule, but there
have been times in my life when I required soothing, and then I have
felt that a whiff of tobacco stills and softens one like the kiss of a
little child. Bring this gentleman a pipe."

Tom grunted, but took to the pipe kindly, and in a few minutes, during
which Kenelm left him in silence, a lowering furrow between his brows
smoothed itself away.

Gradually he felt the sweetening influences of the day and the place, of
the merry sunbeams at play amid the leaves of the arbour, of the frank
perfume of the honeysuckle, of the warble of the birds before they sank
into the taciturn repose of a summer noon.

It was with a reluctant sigh that he rose at last, when Kenelm said, "We
have yet far to go: we must push on."

The landlady, indeed, had already given them a hint that she and
the family wanted to go to church, and to shut up the house in their
absence. Kenelm drew out his purse, but Tom did the same with a return
of cloud on his brow, and Kenelm saw that he would be mortally offended
if suffered to be treated as an inferior; so each paid his due share,
and the two men resumed their wandering. This time it was along a
by-path amid fields, which was a shorter cut than the lane they had
previously followed, to the main road to Luscombe. They walked
slowly till they came to a rustic foot-bridge which spanned a gloomy
trout-stream, not noisy, but with a low, sweet murmur, doubtless the
same stream beside which, many miles away, Kenelm had conversed with the
minstrel. Just as they came to this