Mr. Ingleby smiled. “Don’t you, Edwin? Well, the doctor said it would be best for me to go to my native air; and it struck me as rather a good plan. I never went there with your mother. It belonged to another life. It is quite twenty years since I have been in Somerset.” “Somerset . . .? I didn’t even know it was Somerset.” “No. . . . Well, as I say, it was another world.” Somerset. . . . Edwin’s imagination began to play with the word. He could remember very little: only a huge green county sprawling on a map with rivers . . . yes, and hills. A county stretched beside the Severn Sea. The Severn again! A western county. Cheddar cheese. Lorna Doone. Cider. Coleridge. Sedgemoor. “But what part of Somerset?” “The eastern end.” That was a pity. The farther west the better. “I suppose it’s rather a flat county?” “A great part of it. Did you ever hear of Mendip? “‘The rugged miners poured to war From Mendip’s sunless caves.’” “Yes, of course. . . .” “I came from a little village on the top of Mendip. Twenty years ago it was decaying. Now I expect there’s next to nothing left of it. Twenty years makes a lot of difference. It’s made a lot of difference to me.” “And what was the name of the village?” “I don’t suppose you will ever have heard it. It was called Highberrow.” “Highberrow . . . no. It’s a jolly name.” “I don’t think it ever struck me in that light.” “Highberrow . . . is it right in the hills?” “Yes . . . quite high up. I don’t know how many hundreds of feet. I wasn’t interested in that sort of thing then. It lies right under Axdown, the highest point of the range. On a clear day you can see right over the Bristol Channel into Wales. All the mountains there. The Brecon Beacons. The Sugarloaf. The Black Mountain.” “The Black Mountain. But how strange. Why, when you were a little boy you must have been nearly able to see the place where mother lived. With a big sea between. It must have been wonderful . . .” “Yes . . . I suppose it was. I scarcely remember. Look right down in that deep pool. That’s a trout.” “A trout. . . . Where? Do show me . . .”