Whether because of the dream, or because it was the first day of his holiday, he did not get up very early; nor did he at once plunge into the exploration of the country. He spent a morning, half lazy, half instructive, in looking over the volumes of the County Archæological Society’s transactions, in which were many contributions from Mr Baxter on finds of flint implements, Roman sites, ruins of monastic establishments; in fact, most departments of archæology. They were written in an odd, pompous, only half-educated style. If the man had had more early schooling, thought Fanshawe, he would have been a very distinguished antiquary; or he might have been (he thus qualified his opinion a little later), but for a certain love of opposition and controversy, and, yes, a patronising tone as of one possessing superior knowledge, which left an unpleasant taste. He might have been a very respectable artist. There was an imaginary restoration and elevation of a priory church which was very well conceived. A fine pinnacled central tower was a conspicuous feature of this; it reminded Fanshawe of that which he had seen from the hill, and which the Squire had told him must be Oldbourne. But it was not Oldbourne; it was Fulnaker Priory. “Oh, well,” he said to himself, “I suppose Oldbourne Church may have been built by Fulnaker monks, and Baxter has copied Oldbourne tower. Anything about it in the letterpress? Ah, I see it was published after his death,--found among his papers.” After lunch the Squire asked Fanshawe what he meant to do. “Well,” said Fanshawe, “I think I shall go out on my bike about four as far as Oldbourne and back by Gallows Hill. That ought to be a round of about fifteen miles, oughtn’t it?” “About that,” said the Squire, “and you’ll pass Lambsfield and Wanstone, both of which are worth looking at. There’s a little glass at Lambsfield and the stone at Wanstone.” “Good,” said Fanshawe, “I’ll get tea somewhere, and may I take the glasses? I’ll strap them on my bike, on the carrier.” “Of course, if you like,” said the Squire. “I really ought to have some better ones. If I go into the town to-day, I’ll see if I can pick up some.” “Why should you trouble to do that, if you can’t use them yourself?” said Fanshawe. “Oh, I don’t know; one ought to have a decent pair; and--well, old Patten doesn’t think those are fit to use.” “Is he a judge?” “He’s got some tale: I don’t know: something about old Baxter. I’ve promised to let him tell me about it. It seems very much on his mind since last night.” “Why that? Did he have a nightmare like me?” “He had something: he was looking an old man this morning, and he said he hadn’t closed an eye.” “Well, let him save up his tale till I come back.” “Very well, I will if I can. Look here, are you going to be late? If you get a puncture eight miles off and have to walk home, what then? I don’t trust these bicycles: I shall tell them to give us cold things to eat.”