Some few years ago, two men were trudging along a road, not twenty miles from Sudbury, swearing heartily. It was not the first time they had sworn, not by any means, but it is extremely doubtful if either of them had ever sworn before quite so vehemently. There were, one must admit, extenuating circumstances. Having missed the last train, they were obliged to walk home, a distance of twelve or more miles, and having been overtaken by a rainstorm, they were soaked to the skin. True, the rain had now ceased, but as they had covered only six miles, they still had six more to go, and at every step they took, the water in their boots soaked through their socks and squished between their toes. Just as they arrived at a spot where the road swerved a little to their left and took a sudden dip, a clock from a distance solemnly chimed twelve. The younger of the two men came to a halt and lighted his pipe. "Hold on a minute, Brown," he shouted; "I can't keep up this infernal pace any longer. Let's take an easy." Brown turned and joined his companion, who had seated himself on a wooden gate. Below them, in the dip, the darkness was sepulchral. The hedges on either side the road were of immense height; and high above them rose the trunks of giant pines and larches, the intertwining branches of which formed an archway that completely obliterated the sky. A faint speck of light from afar flickered occasionally, as if through a gap in the foliage; but, apart from this, the men could see nothing--nothing but blackness. "A cheerful spot!" Brown remarked, "as gloomy a bit of road as I've ever seen. And how quiet!" The other man blew his nose. "Not so quiet now," he laughed, "but how everything echoes! What's that? Water?" Both men looked, and, apparently, from the other side of the hedge, came the gentle gurgle of quick flowing water. "Must be a spring," Brown observed, "flowing into some stream in the hollow. The darkness suggests the Styx. A match, if you please, Reynolds." Reynolds gave him one, and for awhile the two men puffed away in silence. Suddenly something whizzed overhead; and they heard the prolonged, dismal hooting of an owl. "This is getting a bit too eerie, even for my liking, Brown," Reynolds remarked; "supposing we move on. I always associate noises like that with a death." "I wish it were my mother-in-law's," Brown laughed, "or my own. But there's no such luck. I'm cold." "So am I," Reynolds replied. "Deuced cold! Come on, do!" He slid off the gate as he spoke and strode into the centre of the road. The moon, temporarily unveiled, revealed as wet a landscape as one could possibly imagine. Everything dripped water--bushes, trees, ferns, grass, hats, clothes--whilst every rut of the road, every particle of soil, shone wet in the moon's rays. A deep, settled calm permeated the atmosphere. It was the stillness of night and moisture combined. "What's the matter? Aren't you coming?" Brown asked impatiently.