Philip Van Doren Stern (ed) (206 page)

"I
think
I
can,"
said
the
Squire,
who
was
now
very
grave
and
absorbed
in
the
story.
"Sit
down,
Patten."

It
was
time,
for
the
old
man
was
supporting
himself
by
one
hand, and
leaning
heavily
on
it.
He
dropped
into
a
chair,
and
said
in
a
very tremulous
voice,
"You
didn't
go
between
them
stones,
did
you,
sir?"

"I
did
not,"
said
Fanshawe,
emphatically.
"I
dare
say
I
was
an
ass, but
as
soon
as
it
dawned
on
me
where
I
was,
I
just
shouldered
my machine
and
did
my
best
to
run.
It
seemed
to
me
as
if
I
was
in
an unholy
evil
sort
of
graveyard,
and
I
was
most
profoundly
thankful
that it
was
one
of
the
longest
days
and
still
sunlight.
Well,
I
had
a
horrid run,
even
if
it
was
only
a
few
hundred
yards.
Everything
caught
on everything:
handles
and
spokes
and
carrier
and
pedals—caught
in them
viciously,
or
I
fancied
so.
I
fell
over
at
least
five
times.
At
last
I saw
the
hedge,
and
I
couldn't
trouble
to
hunt
for
the
gate."

"There
is
no
gate
on
my
side,"
the
Squire
interpolated.

"Just
as
well
I
didn't
waste
time,
then.
I
dropped
the
machine
over somehow
and
went
into
the
road
pretty
near
head-first;
some
branch or
something
got
my
ankle
at
the
last
moment.
Anyhow,
there
I
was out
of
the
wood,
and
seldom
more
thankful
or
more
generally
sore. Then
came
the
job
of
mending
my
punctures.
I
had
a
good
outfit
and I'm
not
at
all
bad
at
the
business;
but
this
was
an
absolutely
hopeless case.
It
was
seven
when
I
got
out
of
the
wood,
and
I
spent
fifty
minutes
over
one
tyre.
As
fast
as
I
found
a
hole
and
put
on
a
patch,
and blew
it
up,
it
went
flat
again.
So
I
made
up
my
mind
to
walk.
That hill
isn't
three
miles
away,
is
it?"

"Not
more
across
country,
but
nearer
six
by
road."

"I
thought
it
must
be.
I
thought
I
couldn't
have
taken
well
over the
hour
over
less
than
five
miles,
even
leading
a
bike.
Well,
there's my
story:
where's
yours
and
Patten's?"

"Mine?
I've
no
story,"
said
the
Squire.
"But
you
weren't
very
far out
when
you
thought
you
were
in
a
graveyard.
There
must
be
a
good few
of
them
up
there,
Patten,
don't
you
think?
They
left
'em
there when
they
fell
to
bits,
I
fancy."

Patten
nodded,
too
much
interested
to
speak.
"Don't,"
said
Fan-shawe.

"Now
then,
Patten,"
said
the
Squire,
"you've
heard
what
sort
of
a time
Mr.
Fanshawe's
been
having.
What
do
you
make
of
it?
Anything to
do
with
Mr.
Baxter?
Fill
yourself
a
glass
of
port,
and
tell
us."