“Yes, and you took off your coat and breeches to cover her up.” “And so did you, though I reckon one would have been enough now I come to think of it.” “I don’t know about that. But how we did have to keep on the move all night to keep warm.” “And dared not go very far for fear of losing the tree.” “And in the morning I wondered what we should do about getting back our clothes.” “You wanted me to go because my shirt hadn’t any holes in it.” “But we both went together.” “And, before we had made up our minds which should go first and call, up she starts. Lord, how she did laugh!” “Ay, she did.” “And says, ‘Now, that’s all my eye and Betty Martin, boys’; and so did we laugh, and I never felt a bit silly either. She was a good sort of girl, she was. Man and woman, I never met the likes of her, never heard tell of the equal of her,” said the sailor musingly. “Married, Harry?” “No, nor likely to be, I don’t think. And yourself?” “Well, I was.... I married Maggie.... It was after the first baby....” A small boy in a corner could not get on with his novelette: he stared open-mouthed and open-eyed, now and then unconsciously imitating their faces; or he would correct this mere wonderment and become shy and uncomfortable at the frank ways of these men talking aloud in a crowded carriage, and utterly regardless of others, about private matters. A trim shop assistant pretended to read about the cricket, but listened, and could not conceal his cold contempt for men so sunken as to give themselves away like this. A dark, thin, genial, pale-faced puritan clerk looked pitifully--with some twinkles of superiority that asked for recognition from his fellow-passengers--these _children_, for as such he regarded them, and would not wholly condemn. Others occasionally jerked out a glance or rolled a leaderless eye or rustled a newspaper without losing the dense veil over their individuality that made them tombs, monuments, not men. One sat gentle, kindly, stupidly envying these two their spirited free talk, their gestures, the hearty draughts of life which they seemed to have taken. All were botanists who had heard and spoken words but had no sense of the beauty and life of the flower because fate had refused, or education destroyed, the gift of liberty and of joy. SURREY. Then I saw a huge silence of meadows, of woods, and beyond these, of hills that raised two breasts of empurpled turf into the sky; and, above the hills, one mountain of cloud that beamed as it reposed in the blue as in a sea. The white cloud buried London with a _requiescat in pace_.