own, and a clause of it was, "Recognize the inevitable and accept it with good grace." Having been thrust ignominiously from the carriage five separate times, he realized that Fate was against him and accepted her decision. He retired to the stoop and viewed the disappearing vehicle with well-simulated relief, glancing at Miles as if to say, "Well, I'm glad we don't have to go to town, aren't you?"
Miles prepared his pipe for an after-breakfast smoke, snapped his fingers at Bistre, and set off westward along the highway. When he came to the grass-grown lane he turned into it, vaulted the stone wall, and, whistling carelessly, made his way through the orchard. The sunlight slanted down amidst the branches and kissed the pink petals and the tiny green leaves. The grass was wet with dew; each
