I inform him that we want to put up the horses and to hire a carriage to take us back to Farleigh Hall. Where can we do that? "Is it far to Underbridge?" The peasant repeats, "Var to Oonderbridge?" and laughs at the question. "Hoo-hoo-hoo!" "Will you gi' oi a drap of zyder?" I courteously bend my head, and point to the shilling. The agricultural intelligence exerts itself.

You go down and get the young maaster a mug o' zyder, and don't you say no more." Then he slowly closed one pig-like eye and aimed it in my direction. That was his idea of winking. Patting me on the knee, he added, "The women be always like that bain't they? always trying to think they know better. It was just like King Arthur and the cakes, weren't it?"

I summon the man to approach us; and the man looks at me stolidly, from the middle of the field, without stirring a step. I ask at the top of my voice how far it is to Farleigh Hall. The Somersetshire peasant answers at the top of his voice: "Vourteen mile. Gi' oi a drap o' zyder."

So I went, expecting and hoping for great things, though quite willing to be content with small things and "a mug o' zyder" if I could not get anything bigger. As soon as we got into the farm kitchen and saw the farmer's wife, the old gentleman began to explain his mistake. "And to think, Mother, that this be young Mr. Strachey, after all.