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           IwasdecantedatCreweinthesmallhoursandhadtowaittillsixtogetatrainforBirmingham.IntheafternoonIgottoReading,andchangedintoalocaltrainwhichjourneyedintothedeepsofBerkshire.PresentlyIwasinalandoflushwater-meadowsandslowreedystreams.Abouteighto’clockintheevening,awearyandtravel-stainedbeing—acrossbetweenafarm-labourerandavet—withacheckedblack-and-whiteplaidoverhisarm(forIdidnotdaretowearitsouthoftheBorder),descendedatthelittlestationofArtinswell.Therewereseveralpeopleontheplatform,andIthoughtIhadbetterwaittoaskmywaytillIwasclearoftheplace.

           Theroadledthroughawoodofgreatbeechesandthenintoashallowvalley,withthegreenbacksofdownspeepingoverthedistanttrees.AfterScotlandtheairsmeltheavyandflat,butinfinitelysweet,forthelimesandchestnutsandlilacbushesweredomesofblossom.PresentlyIcametoabridge,belowwhichaclearslowstreamflowedbetweensnowybedsofwater-buttercups.Alittleaboveitwasamill;andthelashermadeapleasantcoolsoundinthescenteddusk.Somehowtheplacesoothedmeandputmeatmyease.IfelltowhistlingasIlookedintothegreendepths,andthetunewhichcametomylipswas“AnnieLaurie”.

           Afishermancameupfromthewaterside,andashenearedmehetoobegantowhistle.Thetunewasinfectious,forhefollowedmysuit.Hewasahugemaninuntidyoldflannelsandawide-brimmedhat,withacanvasbagslungonhisshoulder.