“Oh no, there’s no call for flies here, sir, no work for ’em; the cart was sent for a man-servant, and he ain’t come. To Ottinge? Yes, sir, he’d take your luggage, I dessay, and you, too, if you wouldn’t despise driving with him.” “I wouldn’t despise driving with any one; but, as I’m rather stiff and dusty, I’ll walk. You say Ottinge is four miles across the fields and seven by the road.” “Here,” addressing the driver in the cart, “if you are going to Ottinge, will you take my bag and box, and I’ll give you a shilling?” “All right, master; ’eave ’em in, Pete. Where to, sir?” “Miss Parrett’s, the Manor;” then, turning to the porter, “can you point me out the short-cut?” “Yes, sir, straight over the fields. First you go along this ’ere road to the left, down a lane, then over the water-meadows and a wooden bridge--ye can see the spire of Ottinge Church, and if you steer to that, you can’t go far out. Thank you,” touching his cap in acknowledgment of sixpence. As the stranger moved off with an even, swinging stride, the two men stared after him with a gape of astonishment. “I’m jiggered if I don’t believe that’s the motor chap after all!” said the driver; “why, he looks like a regular toff, and talks high. I was bid to fetch a young man, so I was, but there was no word of a gentleman--and I know he’s boarding at Sally Hogben’s.” “It’s a queer start,” agreed the porter; “he’s a likely looking fellow. I expect he’ll make rare work among the maids!” as his eyes followed the active figure in tweeds and leather gaiters, till it was lost to sight round a bend in the road. “That soort o’ chap won’t be long with them two old women, you may take your oath. Lor’ bless ye, he’d cut his throat! Why, you haven’t a good glass o’ beer nor a pretty girl in the parish.” “I’m none so sure o’ that!” retorted the driver, giving the bay a smack with the reins, preparatory to starting; “there’s a fair tap at the Drum, and a couple o’ rare pretty faces in our church.” “Is that so? I’m not to say busy on Sunday--one down and one up--and maybe I’ll just step over and have a look at ’em.” “Eh, ye might go furder and fare worse! Well, I’m off,” and he rattled away in his clumsy cart, with the gay new box for its only load. It was about four o’clock on a lovely afternoon in April; the air was sweet and stimulating, and the newcomer was conscious of a sense of exhilaration and satisfaction, as he looked across the stretch of meadows lying in the sunlight.