twice a week. Tradesmen's carts drove out constantly, and the electric
railway did quite a little business in the conveyance of parcels.

Wynchcote, the house where the Saxons had retired to try their scheme of
retrenchment, lay at some little distance beyond the terminus, and might
be considered the outpost of the new suburb. It was a small, picturesque
modern bungalow; Mr. Saxon had built it as an architectural experiment,
intending it for a sort of model country cottage. The tenants who had
occupied it during the period of the war had just returned to Scotland,
so, as it was vacant, it had seemed a convenient place in which to
settle. It was near enough to Grovebury to allow him to attend his
office, and far enough away to cut them adrift from old associations.
After four and a half years of war work, Mrs. Saxon wanted a complete
rest from committees, crèches, canteens, and recreation huts, and would
be glad to urge the excuse of distance to those who appealed for her
help. Perhaps also she felt that in their straitened circumstances it
was wiser to live where they could not enter into social competition
with their former acquaintances.

"I just want to be quiet, to attend to my family, and to enjoy the moors
and our garden," she declared. "I believe I'm going to be very happy at
Wynchcote."

Though it was small, the bungalow was admirably planned, and had many
advantages. The view from its French window was one of the finest in the
district, and it faced a magnificent gorge, wild, rocky, and thickly
wooded, at the bottom of which wound the silver river that ran through
Grovebury. Civilization, in the shape of fields and hedges, stretched
out fingers as far as Wynchcote, and there stopped abruptly. Past the
bungalow lay the open wold with miles of heather, gorse, and bracken,