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and leaving the Railway Station and its environs behind, in a few minutes enters open country. Trees have been planted on either side, but they are too young to afford any shade. Far away on the horizon are belts of trees; but, as a rule, the wind whistles over the intervening paddy fields and offers considerable resistance to the pedalling, while in December and January it is cold enough to put a keen edge on the rider, who will appreciate the fact all the more when he seats himself at the hospitable board of the genial Williams. An occasional hamlet is passed, where early carters and slumbering bullocks are huddled round big fires, the former engaged on the matutinal hookah, the latter snatching the last few moments of rest ere the labours and miseries of another day begin. Large tanks are frequent, sugarcane, rice, toddy, cocoanut and babul trees occur at shorter intervals, till nearing the 90th mile, we get once more into the avenues we left behind at Burdwan.
A few minutes halt at Boodh-Boodh is the next item on the programme. Here we find a quaint little police outpost with an officer all civility and anxiety to cater for our wants. His resources are limited, but he can, as a rule, provide milk, sweets and fruit, and at a pinch, with time allowed, can run to a capital dish of vegetable curry, or a fowl stew with chapatis. But we shall not impose this strain on his hospitality, for at Raneegunge there is breakfast awaiting us. Remounting, we pedal steadily on to Kyrasole through peepul and banyan groves, and alight for another spell just 38 miles from the start. It is a pretty spot, with its ruined bungalow and the traces of what was once a well laid out garden.
