Likewise, distance measured with a pair of compasses is not precisely the same as when measured by the leg. "Ten miles an hour for seven hours, seventy miles. A nice easy day's work." "There are some stiff hills to climb?" "The other side to come down. Say, eight miles an hour, and call it sixty miles. Gott in Himmel! if we can't average eight miles an hour, we had better go in bath-chairs." It does seem somewhat impossible to do less, on paper. But at four o'clock in the afternoon the voice of Duty rings less trumpet- toned: "Well, I suppose we ought to be getting on." "Oh, there's no hurry! don't fuss. Lovely view from here, isn't it?" "Very. Don't forget we are twenty-five miles from St. Blasien." "How far?" "Twenty-five miles, a little over if anything." "Do you mean to say we have only come thirty-five miles?" "That's all." "Nonsense. I don't believe that map of yours." "It is impossible, you know. We have been riding steadily ever since the first thing this morning." "No, we haven't. We didn't get away till eight, to begin with." "Quarter to eight." "Well, quarter to eight; and every half-dozen miles we have stopped." "We have only stopped to look at the view. It's no good coming to see a country, and then not seeing it." "And we have had to pull up some stiff hills." "Besides, it has been an exceptionally hot day to-day." "Well, don't forget St. Blasien is twenty-five miles off, that's all." "Any more hills?" "Yes, two; up and down." "I thought you said it was downhill into St. Blasien?" "So it is for the last ten miles. We are twenty-five miles from St. Blasien here." "Isn't there anywhere between here and St. Blasien? What's that little place there on the lake?" "It isn't St. Blasien, or anywhere near it. There's a danger in beginning that sort of thing." "There's a danger in overworking oneself. One should study moderation in all things. Pretty little place, that Titisee, according to the map; looks as if there would be good air there." "All right, I'm agreeable. It was you fellows who suggested our making for St. Blasien." "Oh, I'm not so keen on St. Blasien! poky little place, down in a valley. This Titisee, I should say, was ever so much nicer." "Quite near, isn't it?" "Five miles." General chorus: "We'll stop at Titisee." George made discovery of this difference between theory and practice on the very first day of our ride. "I thought," said George--he was riding the single, Harris and I being a little ahead on the tandem--"that the idea was to train up the hills and ride down them." "So it is," answered Harris, "as a general rule. But the trains don't go up _every_ hill in the Black Forest." "Somehow, I felt a suspicion that they wouldn't," growled George; and for awhile silence reigned.