“Of course it’s all my fault, Johnson,” interrupted Jane, “but I never was on time in my life, and I’m too old to begin now. Here’s a nice secluded bit of road where you can overhaul the car, and I’ll just walk about a bit for exercise. But don’t let it take long, Johnson, for I’m simply famished, and we have to go ten miles yet before we get any luncheon.” By this time the driver was under the car, and only a pair of tremendous boots was visible. After giving them an amused look, Jane divested herself of her motor rig, shook out her skirts, and, with a parting warning to Johnson to blow the horn when he was ready, sauntered slowly down the country road, which reminded her of one of the picturesque lanes in English Surrey. “It’s a queer thing,” she communed with herself, as she walked along, “that the first day I’m in the country I adore it, and resolve firmly never, never to leave it again; and the second day I begin to pick flaws in it, and take notice of all the hideous little creeping things, and the third I loathe it, and feel that I will die instantly if I can’t get back to where there are lots of people and a great deal of noise and plenty of dirt. I suppose I----” Jane’s saunter and reflections both came to an abrupt end, for a turn in the lane had disclosed to her a man sitting on a log by the roadside, munching hungrily at an appetizing-looking sandwich, the most appetizing one, the hungry Mrs. De Mille instantly decided, that she had ever seen. Beside the man was a small hamper of straw, and leaning against the log was a bottle. He was reading out of a small book, and utterly oblivious, apparently, to his surroundings. He finished in a few bites the sandwich, and, without lifting his eyes, thrust his hand in the hamper, drew forth another, and proceeded deliberately to devour that, too. More and more envious grew Jane’s eyes as she watched the rapid shrinking of the thing she most coveted just then. The second sandwich disappeared like its predecessor, and once more the long, brown hand sought the hamper. Another sandwich was drawn forth, it was raised to the man’s mouth, but before he had a chance to take a bite Jane cried out, impulsively: “Oh, please don’t eat them _all_!” The man looked up, bewildered, and then, catching sight of Jane, sprang to his feet and pulled off his cap. “I--beg your pardon,” he began, uncertainly; “did you speak?” “Yes,” calmly answered Mrs. De Mille, who was always prepared to back her own imprudent impulses. “I asked you to please not eat that other sandwich. I’m terribly hungry!” A smile lighted up the man’s serious face. “Oh, there are more in the hamper,” he answered. “My appetite is big enough, but it is not as big as Mrs. Moore thinks it is. Please help yourself.” He held out the hamper. “Thanks,” said Jane, taking a sandwich and beginning to devour it hungrily. “If Mrs. Moore made these,” she observed, presently, “I think she has very good taste--in sandwiches.”