WAYFARING HOME 267

bless thee, child! Look at her, Moll—as sweet as honey
* and the cream o’ the brindle cow.”

So they rode with kindly Roger Clout and his good wife
by Hanwell, Hillingdon Hill, and Uxbridge, where they
rested at the inn near old St. Margaret’s, Cicely with Mis-
tress Clout, and Nick with her good man. And in the
morning there was nothing to pay, for Roger Clout had
footed all the score.

Then on again, through Beaconsfield and High Wy-
combe, into and over the Chiltern Hills in Buckingham-
shire. In parts the land was passing fair, with sheep in
flocks upon the hills, and cattle knee-deep in the grass;
but otherwhere the way was wild, with bogs and moss in
all the deeps, and dense beech forests on the heights; and
more than once the guards made ready their match-locks
warily. But stout John Saddler’s train was no soft cakes
for thieves, and they came up through Bucks scot-free.

At times it drizzled fitfully, and the road was rough and
bad; but the third day was a fair, sweet day, and most
exceeding bright and fresh. The shepherds whistled on
the hills, and the milkmaids sang in the winding lanes
among the white-thorn hedges, the smell of which was
everywhere. The singing, the merry voices calling, the
comfortable lowing of the kine, the bleating of the sheep,
the clinking of the bridle-chains, and the heavy ruttle of
the carts filled the air with lifeand cheer. The wind was
blowing both warm and cool; and, oh, the blithe breeze of
the English springtime! Nick went up the green hills
and down the white dells like a leaf in the wind, now