AS I WAS GOING TO ST. IVES 93 



oranges, and the breeze was blowing- from that direction. 

 Some bits of yellow peel upon the path told their own tale, and 

 when a bend in the track brought us out on to the road again 

 we were not surprised to see and hear a group of boys. It was 

 indeed " hear " them, for the air was noisy with their shouts of 

 laughter. They were all busy tobogganing, and no travellers 

 to Kosciusko or the Alps ever enjoyed the pastime more. True, 

 there was neither snow nor sleds, but that didn't matter. They 

 had formed a track down the hill between cart ruts, and from 

 its neat appearance it was evident that they had spent the 

 morning sweeping it in preparation. The sled was just a 

 board fastened to the wheels of a lawn-mower ; but it was 

 good enough for these boys, and they crowded round to take 

 their turns each time it was dragged to the top. The track 

 was not a clear, straight line, but wandered from side to side, 

 as is the way with country lanes when they run down hill, and 

 it required some clever steering to keep the sled from running 

 into the ruts ; and if a boy less skilful than his fellows did not 

 keep it on its proper course, the spill which followed only 

 brought forth more shrieks of laughter. 



They stopped their game as we passed, and we asked them 

 the nearest way to St. Ives. They all knew, and all answered 

 together, but there was a difference of opinion amongst them 

 as to whether it was quickest to " keep right along Plum- 

 street," or to go up the hill and on to the main road. Anyway, 

 we found we were going in the right direction, so, leaving them 



