Altogether it was a delightful ride. I found myself emerging from my shell and chatting and joking quite unlike the elderly quahaug I was supposed to be. We passed a party of young fellows on a walking tour, knapsacked and knickerbockered, and the admiring glances they passed at my passenger were flattering. They envied me, that was plain. Well, under different circumstances, I could conceive myself an object of envy. A dozen years younger, with the heart of youth and the comeliness of youth, I might have thought myself lucky to be driving along such a road with such a vision by my side. And, the best of it was, the vision treated me as if I really were her own age. I squared my shoulders and as Hephzy would have said, “perked up” amazingly. We entered Wrayton and moved along the main street between the rows of ancient buildings, past the old stone church with its inevitable and always welcome gray, ivy-draped tower, to the quaint old square with the statue of William Pitt in its center. My companion, all at once, seemed to become aware of her surroundings. “Why!” she exclaimed, “we are here, aren't we? Fancy! I expected a longer drive.” “So did I,” I agreed. “We haven't hurried, either. Where has the time gone.” “I don't know. We have been so busy talking that I have thought of nothing else. Really, I didn't know you could be so entertaining--Uncle Hosea.” The detested title brought me to myself. “We are here,” I said, shortly. “And now where shall we go? Have you any stopping place in particular?” She nodded. “Yes,” she said, “I want to stop now. Please pull up over there, in front of that shop with the cricket bats in the window.” The shop was what we, in America, would have called a “sporting-goods store.” I piloted “Pet” to the curb and pulled up. “I am going in,” said Miss Morley. “Oh, don't trouble to help me. I can get down quite well.” She was down, springing from the step as lightly as a dandelion fluff before I could scramble down on the other side. “I won't be long,” she said, and went into the shop. I, not being invited, remained on the pavement. Two or three small boys appeared from somewhere and, scenting possible pennies, volunteered to hold the horse. I declined their services.