He awoke refreshed, and they continued their journey.The road was pleasant, lying between beautiful pastures and fields of corn, about which, poised high in the clear blue sky, the lark trilled out her happy song.The air came laden with the fragrance it caught upon its way, and the bees, upborne upon its scented breath, hummed forth their drowsy satisfaction as they floated by.
They were now in the open country; the houses were very few and scattered at long intervals, often miles apart.Occasionally they came upon a cluster of poor cottages, some with a chair or low board put across the open door to keep the scrambling children from the road, others shut up close while all the family were working in the fields.These were often the commencement of a little village:
and after an interval came a wheelwright's shed or perhaps a blacksmith's forge; then a thriving farm with sleepy cows lying about the yard, and horses peering over the low wall and scampering away when harnessed horses passed upon the road, as though in triumph at their freedom.There were dull pigs too, turning up the ground in search of dainty food, and grunting their monotonous grumblings as they prowled about, or crossed each other in their quest; plump pigeons skimming round the roof or strutting on the eaves; and ducks and geese, far more graceful in their own conceit, waddling awkwardly about the edges of the pond or sailing glibly on its surface.The farm-yard passed, then came the little inn; the humbler beer-shop; and the village tradesman's; then the lawyer's and the parson's, at whose dread names the beer-shop trembled; the church then peeped out modestly from a clump of trees; then there were a few more cottages; then the cage, and pound, and not unfrequently, on a bank by the way-side, a deep old dusty well.
Then came the trim-hedged fields on either hand, and the open road again.
They walked all day, and slept that night at a small cottage where beds were let to travellers.Next morning they were afoot again, and though jaded at first, and very tired, recovered before long and proceeded briskly forward.
They often stopped to rest, but only for a short space at a time, and still kept on, having had but slight refreshment since the morning.It was nearly five o'clock in the afternoon, when drawing near another cluster of labourers' huts, the child looked wistfully in each, doubtful at which to ask for permission to rest awhile, and buy a draught of milk.
It was not easy to determine, for she was timid and fearful of being repulsed.Here was a crying child, and there a noisy wife.In this, the people seemed too poor; in that, too many.At length she stopped at one where the family were seated round the table--chiefly because there was an old man sitting in a cushioned chair beside the hearth, and she thought he was a grandfather and would feel for hers.
There were besides, the cottager and his wife, and three young sturdy children, brown as berries.The request was no sooner preferred, than granted.The eldest boy ran out to fetch some milk, the second dragged two stools towards the door, and the youngest crept to his mother's gown, and looked at the strangers from beneath his sunburnt hand.
'God save you, master,' said the old cottager in a thin piping voice; 'are you travelling far?'
'Yes, Sir, a long way'--replied the child; for her grandfather appealed to her.
'From London?' inquired the old man.
The child said yes.
Ah! He had been in London many a time--used to go there often once, with waggons.It was nigh two-and-thirty year since he had been there last, and he did hear say there were great changes.Like enough! He had changed, himself, since then.Two-and-thirty year was a long time and eighty-four a great age, though there was some he had known that had lived to very hard upon a hundred--and not so hearty as he, neither--no, nothing like it.