A little further down the hill he stopped again to watch a group of convicts in a field. They seemed to be dancing in a slow and sad cotillon, while behind the hedge on every side were warders armed with guns. Just such a sight, substituting spears could have been seen in Roman times. While he thus stood looking, a man, walking, rapidly, stopped beside him, and asked how many miles it was to Exeter. His round visage; and long, brown eyes, sliding about beneath their brows, his cropped hair and short neck, seemed familiar. “Your name is Crocker, is n't it?” “Why! it's the Bird!” exclaimed the traveller; putting out his hand. “Have n't seen you since we both went down.” Shelton returned his handgrip. Crocker had lived above his head at college, and often kept him, sleepless half the night by playing on the hautboy. “Where have you sprung from?” “India. Got my long leave. I say, are you going this way? Let's go together.” They went, and very fast; faster and faster every minute. “Where are you going at this pace?” asked Shelton. “London.” “Oh! only as far as London?” “I 've set myself to do it in a week.” “Are you in training?” “No.” “You 'll kill yourself.” Crocker answered with a chuckle. Shelton noted with alarm the expression of his eye; there was a sort of stubborn aspiration in it. “Still an idealist!” he thought; “poor fellow!” “Well,” he inquired, “what sort of a time have you had in India?” “Oh,” said the Indian civilian absently, “I've, had the plague.” “Good God!” Crocker smiled, and added: “Caught it on famine duty.” “I see,” said Shelton; “plague and famine! I suppose you fellows really think you 're doing good out there?” His companion looked at him surprised, then answered modestly: “We get very good screws.” “That 's the great thing,” responded Shelton. After a moment's silence, Crocker, looking straight before him, asked: “Don't you think we are doing good?” “I 'm not an authority; but, as a matter of fact, I don't.” Crocker seemed disconcerted. “Why?” he bluntly asked. Shelton was not anxious to explain his views, and he did not reply. His friend repeated: “Why don't you think we're doing good in India?” “Well,” said Shelton gruffly, “how can progress be imposed on nations from outside?” The Indian civilian, glancing at Shelton in an affectionate and doubtful way, replied: “You have n't changed a bit, old chap.” “No, no,” said Shelton; “you 're not going to get out of it that way. Give me a single example of a nation, or an individual, for that matter, who 's ever done any good without having worked up to it from within.” Crocker, grunting, muttered, “Evils.”