ope we both drooped more
than ever.

'Where am I to drive to?' asked the son, whipping up his horse and
bumping us away over the stones of Casnewitz. He sat huddled up looking
exceedingly sulky, manifestly disgusted at having to go out again at the
end of a day's work. As for the cart, it was a sad contrast to the
cushioned comfort of the vanished victoria. It was very high, very
wooden, very shaky, and we sat on a plank in the middle of so terrible a
noise that when we wanted to say anything we had to shout. 'Where am I
to drive to?' repeated the youth, scowling over his shoulder.

'Please drive straight on until you meet a carriage.'

'A what?'

'A carriage.'

'Whose carriage?'

'My carriage.'

He scowled round again with deepened disgust. 'If you have a carriage,'
he said, looking at us as though he were afraid we were lunatics, 'why
are you in my cart?'

'Oh why, why are we!' I cried wringing my hands, overcome by the
wretchedness of our plight; for we were now beyond Casnewitz, and gazing
anxiously ahead with the strained eyes of Sister Annes we saw the road
as straight and as empty as ever.

The youth drove on in sullen silence, his very ears seeming to flap with
scorn; no more good words would he waste on two mad women. The road now
lay through woods, beautiful beechwoods that belong to Prince Putbus,
not fenced off but invitingly open to every one, with green shimmering
depths and occasional flashes of deer. The tops of the great beeches
shone like gold against the sky. The sea must have been quite close, for
though it was not visible the smell of it was everywhere. The nearer we
got to Putbus the more civilised did the road become. Seats appeared on
either side at intervals that grew more frequent. Instead of the usual
wooden sign-posts, iron ones with tarnished gilt lettering pointed down
the forest lanes; and soon we met the first of the Putbus lamp-posts,
also iron and elaborate, wandered out, as it seemed, beyond the natural
sphere of lamp-posts, to light the innocent country road. All these
signs portended what Germans call _Badegaeste_--in English obviously
bath-guests, or, more elegantly, visitors to a bathing resort; and
presently when we were nearer Putbus we began to pass them strolling in
groups and couples and sitting on the seats which were of stone and
could not have been good things for warm bath-guests to sit on.

Wretched as I was I still saw the quaintness and prettiness of Putbus