be. The house, she said, lay near upon the road, so that they would hear
a good deal of news in this way. But she told me nothing of another
matter--for indeed she could not--which distressed her; though I
presently guessed it for myself, as will appear in the course of this
tale.

My horse, Peter (as I had named him after the Apostle when I bought him
at Dover), was pretty weary as we came in sight of the church of Hormead
Parva; for I had given him plenty to do while I was in London; and he
stumbled three or four times.

"We are nearly home," said my Cousin Dorothy; and pointed with her whip.

"It is pleasant to hear such a word," I said: "for, as for me, I have
none."

She said nothing to that; and I was a little ashamed to have said it;
for nothing is easier than to touch a maid's heart by playing Othello to
her Desdemona.

"I have no business to have said that, cousin," I went on presently:
"for England is all home to me just now."

"I hope you will find it so, cousin," she said.

The country was pretty enough through which we rode; though in no ways
wonderful. It was pasture-land for the most part, with woods here and
there; and plenty of hollow ways (all of which were marked upon the map
with great accuracy), by which drovers brought their sheep to the
highway. I saw also a good many fields of corn. The hills were lowish,