328 WAYFARING NOTIONS 



out at work, and as I wanted to see that gentle- 

 man, this promised to be a very convenient 

 arrangement, for Mr Thursby does an enormous 

 amount of walking, and does it mostly on the 

 Blandford Road. And that was where I sought 

 him. Without calling myself a rogue, I do not 

 care for these straight Roman roads. You see 

 such an awful lot in front of you, and if you look 

 back are impressed with the amount of labour you 

 have already had to go through. Once in a way 

 these straight-ruled ancient tracks are all very 

 well. They were this time as I padded along, 

 passing many a lambing-fold with attentive 

 shepherds and watchful dogs, meeting carrier's 

 van after van bringing folk on long journeys from 

 Salisbury market, loaded with goods at the back, 

 and men, women, and children huddled up forward 

 under the tilt or latter-day equivalent. Young 

 men were trudging alongside for company, and 

 tikes, mostly wall-eyed, personally conducting the 

 whole expedition. I liked the outing much. 

 Besides, being able to see the tip of Salisbury 

 spire helped me to forget the road's directness 

 while it lasted, and I was getting plenty of 

 satisfaction till I came upon evidences of disaster 

 and trouble for myself, of which last I was given 

 long enough warning. In the middle of the road 

 was grief — a little nag lay with the shafts of a 

 cosy gig under him, and the harness twisted so 

 that you could not unbuckle it. By his side 

 knelt the good mistress holding his head, while 

 the master vainly tried to ease the poor creature, 

 who was pretty bad. The nearest village was a 

 mile off, and naturally, when help might come 

 through them, the procession of caravans from 

 Salisbury had ceased. Night was falling, and. 



