other thing's awake too. After they were
well out of London, and the horses no longer clattered noisily over the
stones, it was like getting into another world. The stars looked
brightly down from the clear smokeless sky. Soft little winds blew a
thousand flowery scents from over the fields, and sometimes, singing
quite close to the road, Tim heard the nightingale. Even Joshua, a
gruff man, was affected by the sweet influence of the season, for Tim
noticed that he always sang one particular song on fine nights in
summer. Joshua's voice was hoarse from much exposure to weather, but
Tim thought he sang with great expression. The words were not easy to
follow, because the middle of the verse always became inaudible; but by
degrees the boy made out that it was the description of a letter
received by a rustic from his sweetheart. It began:

"All _on_ a summer's day
As _I_ pursued my way."

Then came some lines impossible to hear, and then each verse ended with:

"Com--_men_cing with `my dearest,'
And con--_clu_ding with her name--"

Joshua's song and the steady tramp, tramp of the horses were sometimes
the only sounds disturbing the still night, and Tim, a small erect
figure with widely opened eyes, would sit perched on a convenient
packing-case at the back of the cart, and listen admiringly.

But the winter! That was another matter. Joshua did not sing then, but
kept his teeth clenched, and his head bent, before the sleet, or wind,
or driving rain. Then the brightly lighted London streets seemed
cheerful, and much to be preferred to the lonely open country, where the
bitter wind swept across the wide fields, and, gathering strength as it
came, rushed in among Tim and the parcels. That was hard to bear, but
of all kinds of weather, and he knew them all pretty well now, he
thought the very worst was a fog. It was not only that it penetrated
everywhere, and laid its cold damp finger on everything; but it spread
such a thick veil of dreadful mystery over well-known objects. Nothing
looked the same. The houses in the streets towered up like giant
castles, and if Tim had read fairy tales he might well have fancied them
inhabited by ogres. But he had not. He only felt a dim sense of
discomfort and fear, as though he were lost in a strange place. Then it
was a comfort to know that Joshua was there, almost invisible indeed,
but making himself evident by hoarse shouts, now of encouragement to his
horse