four, and it was
very unlikely they would meet with anyone who could put them right.

And then, while going up a lane, which he knew to be at any rate in the
right direction, he came to a park gate. Just within was a lodge, and in
one of the windows of the lodge there shone a light. Again Radmore
stopped the car and jumped out, Timmy still heavily asleep.

He went up to the door of the lodge and rapped with his knuckles. It
opened and revealed a young woman, fully dressed. "What do you want?" she
exclaimed, in a frightened voice.

"I've lost my way," he said, "and seeing a light in your window, I
ventured to knock. I've no idea where I am--I want to get to Beechfield."

"Beechfield? Why, you're nigh forty miles from there," she said,
surprised.

"Can you tell me how I can get on to the Portsmouth Road?"

"Aye, I think I could do that; but stop your engine, please--I've a
little girl in here as is very ill."

He ran out and did what she asked. Then he came back, and as she took him
into her tiny living-room, he saw that there were tears rolling down her
tired face.

"Is your child very ill?" he asked.

She nodded. "Doctor says if she can get through the next two days she may
be all right."

"Is your husband with you?"

She shook her head. "I'm a widow, sir; my husband was killed in the War.
I'm only caretaking here. When the house up there is sold, they'll turn
me out."

"I'm looking for a country house. Perhaps I'll come over and see it one
day. Is it an old house?"

"Well," she said vaguely, "it isn't a new house, sir. It's a mighty fine
place, and they do say it's going dirt cheap." And then she added slowly,
"There's a map hanging in the kitchen. It was hanging up yonder in the
servants' hall but I brought it down here, as so many people asks the
way."

It was an old-fashioned country road map, and Radmore, bending down, saw
in a moment where he was, and the best way home; and then feeling in a
queer kind of mood, a mood in which a man may do a strange and unexpected
thing, he took out of his pocket the L5 he had offered to Mr. Trotman.

"Look here," he said, "I'd like you just to take this and get your little
girl whatever you think necessary when she's on the mend. She'll want a
lot of care, eh?"

Twice the woman opened her mouth, and found she couldn't speak.

He held out his hand, and she squeezed it with her thin, work-worn
fingers. "I do hope God will bless you, sir!" she said. And he went