Of course it is not only the surface of the road which makes motoring on it so delightful; it is the continuous succession of lovely rural scenes. For example, we had not gone many miles when we met a horseman--an ancient groom we supposed--riding along the grass by the roadside and followed by a pack of hounds, which he was "walking." Ruth jumped from the car and begged to be allowed to take a kodak of them. He smilingly called them together, the older ones looking up into his face and the pups still nosing about the grass. The light was good and the promise of a satisfactory picture excellent. The "groom" asked if he might have a picture when the film had been developed, which Ruth said she would be delighted to send if he would give her his address. "Just address it, ma'am, to 'James the Huntsman, The Kennels, Blankshire.'" "But your last name?" she asked. "That is my name, ma'am, James the Huntsman." So we learned that not only was he not a groom but that we were not in the twentieth century but still in feudal England, where a man's occupation was his designation--the individual not having yet emerged! That his status should be fixed for life was evidently as satisfactory to "James the Huntsman" as, it is to be presumed, was his master's, whether knight or baronet, to him. "It is like a scene from 'Ivanhoe,'" said Ruth, when we were again under way. "If we were a little farther to the east, in Northamptonshire, where Sherwood Forest lies, I have no doubt we should meet Gurth the serf, or Robin Hood!" "No," said I, "the serfs are working in factories, and Robin Hood is in the 'city.'" "You talk like William Jennings Bryan," mocked Ruth. A few miles farther on we came to another England. Again we met a horseman. I said this time a "groom," but Ruth said she was sure he would call himself "chevalier." Whoever he was he looked noble enough to be a duke. He was riding a seal-brown horse whose coat shone like a chestnut in the sunlight. I noticed that the horse was restive, and so shut off the engine till he should pass. The rider thanked me, touching his cap--so I suppose he could not have been a duke--and remarked that the horse was "full of beans." I said it was a superb animal, and the groom, leaning forward to pat his neck, for the horse was still nervous, replied: "He ought to be, sir, for he's own brother to"--I am sorry to say I have forgotten the name--"winner of the Derby." So we had met the aristocracy, after all! Not long after this we met a flock of sheep. Again we stopped. But we got no thanks from the surly shepherd--Ruth said because he was so tired--but the panting dog, who ran from side to side on the road, gave us a grateful glance, as much as to say: "I am glad you did that, for had you kept on, these fools would have been all over the road, and I should have been beaten."