"Don't have lunch. Dinner's at twelve o'clock." The man farthest away took his hands from the pockets of his pants and put them in those of his coat. "I reckon you can get Major Bresee's horse and buggy if he ain't using 'em. The horse ain't much, but it moves along. Want me to see if I can get him for you?" "I would be very much obliged." Selwyn turned to me. "Shall we have the buggy sent over to us while we see about lunch?" he asked, but not waiting for an answer spoke again to the man whose kindly offices he had accepted. "If you can get anything we can ride in comfortably, bring it over, will you? And bring it as soon as you can." Lifting his hat, he turned from the staring strangers and helped me down the three rickety steps that led to the road across which we had to go before turning in to the tree-lined lane that led to the quaint old tavern; and as we walked we were conscious of being watched with speculation that would become opinion as soon as we were out of hearing. Picking our way through the mud, we soon reached the house, and at its door an untidy old gentleman, with the grace and courtesy of the days that are no more, greeted us as a gracious host greets warmly welcomed guests, and we were led to a roaring fire and told to make ourselves at home. As he left the room to call his wife I touched Selwyn's arm and pointed to an open book on an old desk near the window at which travelers were supposed to register. "Ask him if he can't have a lunch fixed for us to take with us. Then you won't have to register or explain. Tell him anything will do, and please to hurry!" He did not hurry. Nobody hurries in Claxon. It was twelve o'clock before the buggy was at the door, a basket of lunch in it, and good-bys said; and giving a last look around the big, dusty, sunshiny room with cobwebs on its walls and furniture in it that would have made a collector sick with desire, I walked out on the porch, and with me went the three dogs which had been stretched in front of the big log fire. Together we went down the steps. Tucking a robe around me, the old gentleman nodded to Selwyn. "Don't let your wife get cold, suh, and don't stay out too long. The sun's deceiving and it ain't as warm as it looks." Being deaf, he spoke loudly. "The battlefields are to your left about half a mile from the creek with a water-oak hanging over it, and nigh about two miles from here. You can't miss 'em. Over yonder"--he pointed to the top of a modest mountain--"is where we had a signal station during the war. The view from there can't be beat this side of heaven. I ain't sure the battlements of heaven itself--" But our horse had started and Selwyn, looking at me, laughed. "Battlefields have their interest, but not to-day. It's nice, isn't it, to be--just by ourselves and all the world away? Are you all right? I have orders to keep my wife warm." "She's very warm. Where are we going?" I turned from Selwyn's eyes.