A TALL WINDMILL
The weather being fine and having finished our
interview with our landlord, we started off without
further delay, anxious to have as much time as
possible before us for our day's explorations. The
country still continued level, the road winding in
and out thereof, as though determined to cover
twice as much ground as needful in getting from
place to place. Just beyond Wainfleet we passed,
close to our way, the tallest windmill I think I
have ever seen; it looked more like a lighthouse
with sails attached than a proper windmill; it was
presumably so built to obtain all the breezes
possible, as in a flat country the foliage of the
growing trees around is apt to deprive a mill of
much of its motive power. In fact an Essex miller
once told me that owing to the growth of the trees
around his mill since it was first built, he could
hardly ever work it in the summer time on account
of the foliage robbing him of so much wind. Then
as we drove on we caught a peep of low wooded
hills ahead, showing an uneven outline, faintly blue,
with touches of orange here and there where the
sun's rays rested on the golden autumn leafage,
now lighting up one spot, now another. We were
delighted to observe that our road led apparently
in the direction of these hills, for they gave promise
of pleasant wanderings.
Farther on we reached a pretty little village, with its church picturesquely crowning a knoll. Here we pulled up for a moment to ask the name of the place from a man at work by the roadside. "This be I-r-b-y," he responded, spelling not pro-
