est because, happening to pass down the
line two days before, I had noted a gang of navvies at work on the
culvert; and among them, as they stood aside to let the train pass, I
had recognised my friend Joby Tucker, their ganger, and an excellent
fellow to boot.

Therefore my eyes were alert as we approached the curve that opens
the meadow into view, and--as I am a Christian man, living in the
twentieth century--I saw this Vision: I beheld beneath the shade of
the midmost oak eight men sitting stark naked, whereof one blew on a
flute, one played a concertina, and the rest beat their palms
together, marking the time; while before them, in couples on the
sward, my gang of navvies rotated in a clumsy waltz watched by a ring
of solemn ruminant kine!

I saw it. The whole scene, barring the concertina and the navvies'
clothes, might have been transformed straight from a Greek vase of
the best period. Here, in this green corner of rural England on a
workaday afternoon (a Wednesday, to be precise), in full sunlight, I
saw this company of the early gods sitting, naked and unabashed, and
piping, while twelve British navvies danced to their music. . . .
I saw it; and a derisive whistle from the engine told me that driver
and stoker saw it too. I was not dreaming, then. But what on
earth could it mean? For fifteen seconds or so I stared at the
Vision . . . and so the train joggled past it and rapt it from my
eyes.

I can understand now the ancient stories of men who, having by hap
surprised the goddesses bathing, never recovered from the shock but
thereafter ran wild in the woods with their memories.

At the next station I alighted. It chanced to be the station for
which I had taken my ticket; but anyhow I should have alighted there.
The spell of the vision was upon me. The Norman porch might wait.
It is (as I have said) used to waiting, and in fact it has waited.
I have not yet made another holiday to visit it. Whether or no the
market-women and the local policeman had beheld, I know not. I hope
not, but now shall never know. . . . The engine-driver, leaning in
converse with the station-master, and jerking a thumb backward, had
certainly beheld. But I passed him with averted eyes, gave up my
ticket, and struck straight across country for the spot.

I came to it, as my watch told me, at twenty minutes after five.
The afternoon sunlight still lay broad on the meadow. The place was
unchanged save for a lengthening o