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or so surely enough we met a very stout party walking along. We at once pulled up and gave her the message. Not readily shall I forget the angry flush that came over that good woman's face. "I daresay," shouted she back, "you think it a grand thing to drive about and insult unprotected ladies. A pretty way of amusing yourselves, and I suppose you think yourself a gentleman—a gentleman, indeed? Well, you're not one, so there! I haven't got a husband, thank God!" and so forth in superabundance. We hurriedly drove on to escape the torrent of abuse. Manifestly we had made a mistake, and had addressed the wrong party! We did not think it worth while to attempt an explanation, even could we have got a word in, as she probably would not have believed us, and we might have made matters worse. For the moment we wished we had not been so obliging to a stranger. Shortly after this incident we met another stout party on the way; she might have been fifteen stone, more or less, but with our recent experience we did not venture to address her. We might have made another mistake—with the consequences!

Branston we found to be all that it had been represented to us. A very pretty village indeed it was, composed chiefly of stone-built cottages, pleasantly weather-tinted, many having picturesque porches, and nearly all possessing little flower gardens in front, gay with colour and sweet of odour. The church, too, was aged and gray, and we noticed in the walls some "long-and-short" work showing rude but lasting Saxon masonry and