Philip Van Doren Stern (ed) (200 page)

"Yes,
I
see
they
are
just
the
sort
of
thing
that
a
clever
workman
in
a different
line
of
business
might
turn
out.
But
I
don't
see
why
he
made them
so
heavy.
And
did
Baxter
actually
find
a
Roman
villa
here?"

"Yes,
there's
a
pavement
turfed
over,
where
we're
standing:
it
was too
rough
and
plain
to
be
worth
taking
up,
but
of
course
there
are drawings
of
it:
and
the
small
things
and
pottery
that
turned
up
were quite
good
of
their
kind.
An
ingenious
chap,
old
Baxter:
he
seemed
to have
a
quite
out-of-the-way
instinct
for
these
things.
He
was
invaluable
to
our
archaeologists.
He
used
to
shut
up
his
shop
for
days
at
a time,
and
wander
off
over
the
district,
marking
down
places,
where
he scented
anything,
on
the
ordnance
map;
and
he
kept
a
book
with fuller
notes
of
the
places.
Since
his
death,
a
good
many
of
them
have been
sampled,
and
there's
always
been
something
to
justify
him."

"What
a
good
man!"
said
Mr.
Fanshawe.

"Good?"
said
the
Squire,
pulling
up
brusquely.

"I
meant
useful
to
have
about
the
place,"
said
Mr.
Fanshawe.
"But was
he
a
villain?"

"I
don't
know
about
that
either,"
said
the
Squire;
"but
all
I
can
say is,
if
he
was
good,
he
wasn't
lucky.
And
he
wasn't
liked:
I
didn't
like him,"
he
added,
after
a
moment.

"Oh?"
said
Fanshawe
interrogatively.

"No,
I
didn't;
but
that's
enough
about
Baxter:
besides,
this
is
the stiffest
bit,
and
I
don't
want
to
talk
and
walk
as
well."

Indeed
it
was
hot,
climbing
a
slippery
grass
slope
that
evening.
"I told
you
I
should
take
you
the
short
way,"
panted
the
Squire,
"and
I wish
I
hadn't.
However,
a
bath
won't
do
us
any
harm
when
we
get back.
Here
we
are,
and
there's
the
seat."

A
small
clump
of
old
Scotch
firs
crowned
the
top
of
the
hill;
and, at
the
edge
of
it,
commanding
the
cream
of
the
view,
was
a
wide
and solid
seat,
on
which
the
two
disposed
themselves,
and
wiped
their brows,
and
regained
breath.

"Now,
then,"
said
the
Squire,
as
soon
as
he
was
in
a
condition
to talk
connectedly,
"this
is
where
your
glasses
come
in.
But
you'd
better take
a
general
look
round
first.
My
word!
I've
never
seen
the
view
look better."

Writing as
I
am now with a winter wind flapping against dark windows and a rushing,
tumbling sea within a hundred yards, I find it hard to summon up the feelings
and words which will put my reader in possession of the June evening and the
lovely English landscape of which the Squire was speaking.

Across a broad level plain they looked upon
ranges of great hills, whose uplands—some green, some furred with woods—caught
the light of a sun, westering but not yet low. And all the plain was fertile,
though the river which traversed it was nowhere seen. There were copses, green
wheat, hedges and pasture-land: the little compact white moving cloud marked
the evening train. Then the eye picked out red farms and grey houses, and
nearer home scattered cottages, and then the Hall, nestled under the hill. The
smoke of chimneys was very blue and straight. There was a smell of hay in the
air: there were wild roses on bushes hard by. It was the acme of summer.

After some minutes of silent contemplation,
the Squire began to point out the leading features, the hills and valleys, and
told where the towns and villages lay. "Now," he said, "with the
glasses you'll be able to pick out Fulnaker Abbey. Take a line across that big
green field, then over the wood beyond it, then over the farm on the
knoll."

"Yes, yes," said Fanshawe. "I've got it. What a fine
tower!"

"You must have got the wrong direction," said the Squire;
"there's not much of a tower about there that I remember, unless it's
Old-bourne Church that you've got hold of. And if you call that a fine tower,
you're easily pleased."