ent, through
honeysuckled lanes, catching glimpses of sunny fields of corn falling
before the reaper, and happy knots of harvest folks dining beneath the
shelter of their sheaves, with the sturdy old green umbrella sheltering
them from the sun.

Snatches of song, peals of laughter, merry nonsense, passed from one to
the other; Norman, roused into blitheness, found wit, the young ladies
found laughter, and Richard's eyes and mouth looked very pretty, as they
smiled their quiet diversion.

At last, his face drawn all into one silent laugh, he directed the eyes
of the rest to a high green mound, rising immediately before them, where
stood two little figures, one with a spy-glass, intently gazing the
opposite way.

At the same time came the halt, and Norman, bounding out, sprang lightly
and nimbly up the side of the mound, and, while the spy-glass was yet
pointed full at Wales, had hold of a pair of stout legs, and with the
words, "Keep a good lockout!" had tumbled Mr. May headforemost down the
grassy slope, with Mary rolling after.

Harry's first outcry was for his precious glass--his second was, not
at his fall, but that they should have come from the east, when, by the
compass, Stoneborough was north-north-west. And then the boys took to
tumbling over one another, while Meta frolicked joyously, with Nipen
after her, up and down the mounds, chased by Mary and Blanche, who were
wild with glee.

By-and-by she joined Ethel, and Norman was summoned to help them to
trace out the old lines of encampment, ditch, rampart, and gates--happy
work on those slopes of fresh turf, embroidered with every minute
blossom of the moor--thyme, birdsfoot, eyebright, and dwarf purple
thistle, buzzed and hummed over by busy, black-tailed, yellow-banded
dumbledores, the breezy wind blowing softly in their faces, and the
expanse of country--wooded hill, verdant pasture, amber harvest-field,
winding river, smoke-canopied town, and brown moor, melting grayly away
to the mountain heads.

Now in sun, now in shade, the bright young antiquaries surveyed the old
banks, and talked wisely of vallum and fossa, of legion and cohort, of
Agricola and Suetonius, and discussed the delightful probability, that
this might have been raised in the war with Caractacus, whence, argued
Ethel, since Caractacus was certainly Arviragus, it must have been the
very spot where Imogen met Posthumus again. Was not yonder the very
high-road to Milford Haven, and thus mu