been abandoned. I poked with my umbrella at the broken stones but no treasure yielded to my search.

And there was this day an old man who sat with us on a bench beside the road. He had walked since dawn from Gravesend and his toes were coming through his boots; but he made no attempt to get money from us. Perhaps he thought that we were equal brothers to his poverty.

I recall, also, a watering trough with a canopy of wood and this inscription cut in stone.

Friend, who art here athirst to drink
Of earthly water, stay to think
As the stream runs, of that kind flow
With which all things we want below
Are ever pouring to us from above,
A life-long river fed by love.
Then as thou leavest go to tell

Some care-worn dweller around this well
How souls may find a font to slake
Their thirst, and life less dreary make.

So may this water be a guide

To yonder church where fuller tide
Of peace be thine, till, thirst is o'er
With bliss by the eternal shore.

But now the pious metaphor breaks down, for the stream is choked and the trough is empty.

We lunched at Ightham at the George and Dragon; and in the washroom there hung a request that each person leave a penny for the use of the towel. There was a shrewd profit in the business, for the towel must

already have gathered thirty or forty shillings and still went strong.

At West Malling we came upon a Norman gate that guarded the grassy inclosure of what we thought were monastic buildings. We stepped inside and were

Must already have gathered thirty or forty shillings

advancing toward a fine old Tudor building when there came toward us on the gravel path a fluttering nun or mother superior, something like that.

"You have made a mistake," she said with a pleasant smile but with arm uplifted that seemed to hold a flaming sword.

"So it appears," I answered. "We were looking for monks-the other kind of nun.'

"Men are not allowed in this inclosure," she continued.

"But the gate was so inviting. Where are we anyway?" asked Bill.

"It is a Benedictine convent-for women.

66

'Our fault," said Bill. "But what a charming garden! One would say those tables were laid for

"I am sorry," said the M. S.

"Our sorrow is greater," answered Bill.

We turned away.

"I suppose" said Bill, "that rules are rules. But I would have liked to invite all the nuns to a pint of stout. I'll bet the old girls would have enjoyed it, too."

And so we journeyed to Maidstone and put up at the Royal Star Hotel. In our rooms there was water that ran both hot and cold which is a novelty in England. As Maidstone is a city, the hotel's cleanliness was doubtful; for our advance to population usually gathers its bit of dirt. Certainly the waiter's shirt showed the contest of a furious week.

We have walked where clouds ran joyous from the sea

I

CHAPTER XXXIV

DRAW near the end of our month of travel. At

Maidstone my pedometer showed a distance of

two hundred and seventy miles and by the following night, when our journey ended, it touched three hundred. This distance excluded all lifts by bus and boat, but included detour and evening stroll.

We have had a glimpse of Kent, Sussex and Surrey; but no more than a glimpse, for every crossroad was an invitation which by necessity we declined. Each valley offered us the spires of villages unvisited, a transient vista through the trees which beckoned vainly.

We have traversed valley and hill. We have been lost within the tangle of a wood, have trod the yielding turf of stately parks. We have climbed through gorse

and heather to noble prospects on the summits of the Downs. We have gone by highroad, by lane and path, sometimes with a rush of motors at our side, but more often with wind singing in the trees. In sunlight we have walked where clouds ran joyous from the sea, and we have been drenched in rain till we dripped like a leaky tap.

On our march we have found rest in roadside taverns and on benches by the way. We have perched on the parapet of bridges and watched the leaves drifting with the stream. On hillsides we have slept, or through half-shut eyes we have watched the wind change its semaphore to the brisk traffic of the clouds. We have climbed an ancient battlement and have made a pillow of our bags for a brief refreshment to conjure up the creatures of the past. In village churches we have sat with glance that has wandered to the vaults and windows. And in friendly graveyards we have found a bed for a short siesta with heads upon a mound of turf. Stream and pond, crumbling wall and meadow, have been the companions of our ease until the road has called us onward to the smoke of supper.

We have slept at night in about twenty inns. In three times that number we have sat in the taprooms in conversation with such persons as we foundlaborers, servants and small merchants. These inns, with but an exception or two, have been clean and sufficient for our entertainment. A musty smell we found, but this is but an agreeable proof of their antiquity. If one accepts the English standard of mutton and monotony, the food was worth the eating. Usually