The Senior Tutor, too, had given up work and retired upon his Fellowship. But every summer found him back at his old haunts; and still every summer brought a reading-party to the Cove, in conduct now of a brisk Junior Fellow, who had read with me in our time and achieved a "first." In short, things at the Cove were pretty much the same after twenty years, barring that a small colony of painters had descended upon it and made it their home. With them the undergraduates had naturally and quickly made friends, and the result was a cricket match--a grand Two-days' Cricket Match. They were all extremely serious about it, and the Oxford party--at their wits' end, no doubt, to make up a team against the Artists--had bethought themselves of me, who dwelt at the other end of the Duchy. They had written--they had even sent a two-page telegram--to me, who had not handled a bat for more years than I cared to count. It is delicious to be flattered by youth, especially for gifts you never possessed or possess no longer. I yielded and came. The season was Midsummer, or a little after; the weather golden and glorious. We had drawn stumps after the first day's play, and the evening was to be wound up with a sing-song in the great tent erected--a marvel to the "Covers," or native fishermen--on the cricket-field. But I no longer take kindly to such entertainments; and so, after a bathe and a quiet dinner at the inn, it came into my mind to take a stroll up the hill and along the cliffs, and pay an evening call on the old Vicar, wondering if he would remember me. I found him in his garden. The Senior Tutor was there too--"the grave man, nicknamed Adam"--and the Vicar's wife, seated in a bee-hive straw chair, knitting. So we four talked happily for a while, until she left us on pretence that the dew was falling; and with that, as I have said, a wonderful silence possessed the garden fragrant with memories and the night-scent of flowers. . .