taken for a younger brother of the sea-serpent,
had not our steward pronounced it to be a conger,
weighing at least ninety pounds!

"Chaps like he," the venerable aborigine
assured us, "was frequently took in the
bay."

Declining the wallowing monster, even at
the reduced price of one-and-nine, and leaving
the ancient mariner to chat with the crew,
Smijthe and I jumped into the dingy and
sculled ashore.

Arrivals by sea were evidently not common;
for several natives, who had been slumbering on
a fragrant couch of compost, in which sea-drift
and mussel-shells freely intermingled, arose,
stretched themselves, and came down to meet,
or rather stare at, us.

'Was this Sea Palling?"

"No; 'twere Falcombe."

"Then where was Sea Palling?"

"Four mile to the west'ard."

"Was it difficult to find?"

"'Pends on what we was a-looking for."

"Why, the town."

"Town! Sea Palling ain't a town. There's
a pot-hus and a post-hus, but not much else. If
the gents wished to go anywhere on squire's—
Sir Quigley Quantock's—land, one of them
could show the way."

Remembering Bob's caution, I was on my
guard.

"I—I am going to Sir Quigley's; but as to
a guide——"

"Squire's in Hitterley," put in a native.
"If he warn't, he's never here. There ain't no
house, you know."

"I know—that is, I suppose so. The fact
is, I wish to make a hasty sketch or two
in the woods. The thicker woods. If one of
you will put me in the path, that is all I
require."

A hasty consultation ensued among the
natives, in the course of which, if there be any
significance in the rise and fall of a halfpenny,
I was submitted to the arbitration of fortune,
after which, bidding my friend a temporary
farewell, I set forth with my guide.

Avoiding, as I found we might, the village,
we were quickly on the wild down, and following
a track which seemed to point towards a
well-wooded district, on the landward slope
of the hills, about live miles off. This, my
guide remarked, was all on the squire's
property.

It was a wild quest, but, faithful to Bob's
injunctions, I here dismissed my native, and
proceeded alone.

Scarcely a sign or sound of life interrupted
my meditations as I strode along, until, feeling
a little fatigued, I sat down upon a large
boulder, and consulted Bob's "plan." I might
as well have consulted the works of Confucius
in the original manuscript! One track,
however, took my fancy, and, as it bore in the
direction Bob had told me to "steer," I followed
that.

On, and on—I was passing trees, and clumps
of trees; but as the woodland became denser
my difficulties increased. Where, in this trackless
forest, was I to seek my hermit?

Not trackless! I became suddenly conscious
of wheel-marks, and the dint of horse-hoofs crossing
hither and thither. Wood-wains? No.
The traces were too narrow, and too light, and
the horses that drew these vehicles had small
and shapely feet. The recluse, then, has not
been able to isolate himself so utterly as he had
hoped. Perhaps he has retired to some still
remoter spot in the heart of the sheltering
wood, where not even the chance wayfarer——
Hallo!

A distant bugle: "Bright chanticleer
proclaims the morn." Undoubtedly—but why here,
and now? The air suddenly glided, with astonishing
dexterity, into "Oh the roast beef of Old
England," with the usual supplementary assurance,
in a varied form, that the institution is
peculiarly British—and, round an angle of the
wood, came swinging, at ten miles an hour—
can I believe my eyes?—a well-appointed,
rather rakish-looking, four-horse 'bus! From
certain streamers disposed about the horses, and
a little banner fluttering on the vehicle itself, it
had all the appearance of being on its way to a
fair—especially as the fourteen passengers on
the outside, not to mention the twelve within,
seemed to be in the highest possible merriment.

As the phenomenon swept past, I had time to
read, in large characters on the panel, "THE
HERMIT. Twice a day. There and back: Half-
a-crown—driver included."

In passing, several of the mirthful party had
wafted affectionate greetings towards the solitary
traveller; but the driver, with a civil gesture,
pointed backward with his whip. The movement
was presently explained by the appearance
of a second conveyance—this time a pair-horse
stage-coach, of the species now so nearly
extinct.

Laden as it was, the coachman pulled up, and
touched his hat.

"'Ermit, sir? 'Ermit? Make room for one
a side o' me."

I shook my head.

"T'other's coming, sir," said the driver,
"if you likes he better. He've got one
place."

He drove on. On the back of the vehicle was
its name:—"THE FRIAR TUCK." (Ah, Bob!)
"One Shilling."

T'other one was not far off. Round the
corner came, jolting and jingling, a rickety
burlesque of that obsolete form of London cab,
in which the driver balanced himself on a perch
at the side, two passengers occupying the body.
It was drawn by a broken-down hack, which
embraced the first opportunity of stopping, as
the driver, checking him, pointed to the vacant
seat. I shook my head. The vehicle tottered
forward. At its back there dangled a placard
—its name, "THE FRA ROBERTO.
Ninepence."

It was but too clear. Lynn's haunt had been