Page:Maud Howe - A Newport Aquarelle.djvu/31



was a perfect Newport afternoon. The sun, which had shone brightly all the morning, had drawn a veil of soft gray clouds before his face, and a cool west wind blew refreshingly over the road, whose dust had been laid by a shower during the night.

The West Road, which leads from the town of Newport out into the quiet country, was dotted here and there with groups of riders, and with carriages of all degrees, from trotting-wagons to four-in-hand coaches.

All the vehicles were wending their way to Southwick's Grove, the spot appointed for that afternoon's meet.

It was early as yet, only half-past four o'clock, and the road was not crowded by the hurrying late-comers.