to the good name of Upper Crossleys. But on the highroad and just
before entering the outskirts of the little country town, I had
observed an inn which had seemed to be well patronized by the local
folks, and since your typical country tap-room is a clearing-house for
the gossip of the neighborhood, to "The Threshers" I made my way.

The doors had only just been opened; nevertheless as I set my foot
upon the step I met the very gossip that I sought.

"Hope you wasn't caught in the shower, this morning, sir?" said an old
man seated solitary in an armchair in the corner of the bar-parlor.
"But the country'll be all the better for the rain." He eyed me, and:
"There's many a fine walk hereabouts," he averred. "There's lots
comes down from London, especially of a Sunday."

"No doubt," said I encouragingly, stepping up to the counter.

"There's Manton-on-the-Hill," continued the ancient. "You can see the
sea from there in clear weather; and many's the time in the war I've
heard the guns in France from Upper Crowbury of a still night. Then,
four mile away, there's the old Friar's Park; though nobody's allowed
past the gate. Not as nobody wants to be," he added reflectively.

"How is that? I understood that Friar's Park was of great interest."

"Oh, ah!" murmured my acquaintance. "Oh, ah! Maybe you was thinkin' of
lookin' over it like?"

"I was--yes."