"Of course I do, but I was too polite to say so." "You needn't be polite to me," said Crowther with his slow smile. "And England happens to be my country. I am as British--" he glanced at Piers' dark face--"perhaps even a little more so--than you are." "I plead guilty to an Italian grandmother," said Piers. "But you--I thought you were Colonial." "I am British born and bred," said Crowther. "You?" Piers looked at him in surprise. "You don't belong to Australia then?" "Only by adoption. I was the son of an English parson. I was destined for the Church myself for the first twenty years of my life." Crowther was still smiling, but his eyes had left Piers; they scanned the horizon contemplatively. "Great Scott!" said Piers. "Lucky escape for you, what?" "I didn't think so at the time," Crowther spoke thoughtfully, sitting motionless in his saddle and gazing straight before him. "You see, I was keen on the religious life. I was narrow in my views--I was astonishingly narrow; but I was keen." "Ye gods!" said Piers. He looked at the square, strong figure incredulously. Somehow he could not associate Crowther with any but a vigorous, outdoor existence. "You would never have stuck to it," he said, after a moment. "You'd have loathed the life." "I don't think so," said Crowther, in his deliberate way, "though I admit I probably shouldn't have expanded much. It wasn't easy to give it up at the time." "What made you do it?" asked Piers. "Necessity. When my father died, my mother was left with a large family and quite destitute. I was the eldest, and a sheep-farming uncle--a brother of hers--offered me a wage sufficient to keep her going if I would give up the Church and join him. I was already studying. I could have pushed through on my own; but I couldn't have supported her. So I had to go. That was the beginning of my Colonial life. It was five-and-twenty years ago, and I've never been Home since." He turned his horse quietly round to continue the ascent. The road was steep. They went slowly side by side.