82 WAYFARING NOTIONS 



Fawkes conspirators, to which at least one 

 repaired after the coup manque at St Stephen's. 

 They both declared that at midnight on every 

 Fifth of November — and mind you, one lived for 

 years In the house, and the other who rented it, 

 went down on purpose to investigate — they 

 distinctly heard as twelve struck, the clatter of a 

 horse galloped into the stable yard, the ring of a 

 horseman's heavy riding-boot heels as he 

 hurriedly dismounted, and the jingle of his spurs 

 on the cobble stones, then the stable door open, 

 the footfalls of a horse being led into the stall, 

 the banging of the door as it closed, and the 

 tired tread of an armed man as he marched into 

 the house. Do I believe a word of it ? That is 

 as may be, so far as regards the manifestations. 

 But so far as the narrators' good faith and the 

 trustworthiness of their evidence as the truth, the 

 whole truth, and nothing but the truth, according 

 to their personal observation, I always was quite 

 satisfied. 



But let us quit gunpowder-treasoning and 

 turn on the country tap. What go we forth 

 for to see down in Sussex ? Summer. Not the 

 summer season according to the calendar, which 

 may be winter, autumn, or, still worse, spring ; 

 but jolly fine old-fashioned hot weather. Summer 

 with Mr Sol blazing over your head and on your 

 back, more power to him, all sorts of vegetation 

 a-growing and a-blowing at express speed, and 

 the farmers as crooked as two sticks in their 

 tempers, being afraid of losing their grumbling 

 form by reason of falling out of practice for ten 

 minutes or so, since they had a fill of rain to 

 grow the grass and now a baking sun for hay- 

 making. Summer, the sort to make you cast 



