yourself to—Mr. Dunneston, isn't it, with his delightfully inconclusive suspicions."
"Come then," Preston laughed as he led out upon the lawn.
It was the very hour of perfection in the heart of an English morning, when the adjustments of the dawn with the day are over and all the land has settled itself in security and quiet to the serene sufficiency of its established toil.
Toward the tiny, town market-place country carts creaked sturdily down the bedded road, while the bees boomed about the warm honeysuckle against the green walls on either side of the ancient way, and the red and yellow poppies and field flowers opened their blossoms slowly to deck discreetly the even acres of the growing grain.
The American, as he came out to that peaceful country, quivered gladly with the delight of it all—the clipped hedgerow and speckless road, the serried spinneys and shining copse, the red-roofed, vine-clad, gray stone cottages
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