"In order that they may have them small next season," replied his dragoman. "The future, sir; the future! The cycle of beauty and eternal hope, and, incidentally, _the good of trade_. Grasp that phrase and you will have no need for further inquiry, and probably no inclination." "One could get American sweets in here, I guess," said the Angel, entering. II "And where would you wish to go to-day, sir?" asked his dragoman of the Angel who was moving his head from side to side like a dromedary in the Haymarket. "I should like," the Angel answered, "to go into the country." "The country!" returned his dragoman, doubtfully. "You will find very little to see there." "Natheless," said the Angel, spreading his wings. "These," gasped his dragoman, after a few breathless minutes, "are the Chilterns--they will serve; any part of the country is now the same. Shall we descend?" Alighting on what seemed to be a common, he removed the cloud moisture from his brow, and shading his eyes with his hand, stood peering into the distance on every side. "As I thought," he said; "there has been no movement since I brought the Prime here in 1944; we shall have some difficulty in getting lunch." "A wonderfully peaceful spot," said the Angel. "True," said his dragoman. "We might fly sixty miles in any direction and not see a house in repair." "Let us!" said the Angel. They flew a hundred, and alighted again. "Same here!" said his dragoman. "This is Leicestershire. Note the rolling landscape of wild pastures." "I am getting hungry," said the Angel. "Let us fly again." "I have told you, sir," remarked his dragoman, while they were flying, "that we shall have the greatest difficulty in finding any inhabited dwelling in the country. Had we not better alight at Blackton or Bradleeds?" "No," said the Angel. "I have come for a day in the fresh air." "Would bilberries serve?" asked his dragoman; "for I see a man gathering them." The Angel closed his wings, and they dropped on to a moor close to an aged man. "My worthy wight," said the Angel, "we are hungry. Would you give us some of your bilberries?" "Wot oh!" ejaculated the ancient party; "never 'eard yer comin'. Been flyin' by wireless, 'ave yer? Got an observer, I see," he added, jerking his grizzled chin at the dragoman. "Strike me, it's the good old dyes o' the Gryte Skirmish over agyne." "Is this," asked the Angel, whose mouth was already black with bilberries, "the dialect of rural England?" "I will interrogate him, sir," said his dragoman, "for in truth I am at a loss to account for the presence of a man in the country." He took the old person by his last button and led him a little apart. Returning to the Angel, who had finished the bilberries, he whispered: "It is as I thought. This is the sole survivor of the soldiers settled on the land at the conclusion of the Great Skirmish. He lives on berries and birds who have died a natural death."