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- Джон Джон Бакен
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I
did
not
follow
the
road
,
but
the
burnside
which
flanked
it
on
the
right
,
where
the
bracken
grew
deep
and
the
high
banks
made
a
tolerable
screen
.
It
was
well
I
did
so
,
for
no
sooner
had
I
gained
the
hollow
than
,
looking
back
,
I
saw
the
pursuit
topping
the
ridge
from
which
I
had
descended
.
After
that
I
did
not
look
back
;
I
had
no
time
.
I
ran
up
the
burnside
,
crawling
over
the
open
places
,
and
for
a
large
part
wading
in
the
shallow
stream
.
I
found
a
deserted
cottage
with
a
row
of
phantom
peat-stacks
and
an
overgrown
garden
.
Then
I
was
among
young
hay
,
and
very
soon
had
come
to
the
edge
of
a
plantation
of
wind-blown
firs
.
From
there
I
saw
the
chimneys
of
the
house
smoking
a
few
hundred
yards
to
my
left
.
I
forsook
the
burnside
,
crossed
another
dyke
,
and
almost
before
I
knew
was
on
a
rough
lawn
.
A
glance
back
told
me
that
I
was
well
out
of
sight
of
the
pursuit
,
which
had
not
yet
passed
the
first
lift
of
the
moor
.
The
lawn
was
a
very
rough
place
,
cut
with
a
scythe
instead
of
a
mower
,
and
planted
with
beds
of
scrubby
rhododendrons
.
A
brace
of
black-game
,
which
are
not
usually
garden
birds
,
rose
at
my
approach
.
The
house
before
me
was
the
ordinary
moorland
farm
,
with
a
more
pretentious
whitewashed
wing
added
.
Attached
to
this
wing
was
a
glass
veranda
,
and
through
the
glass
I
saw
the
face
of
an
elderly
gentleman
meekly
watching
me
.
I
stalked
over
the
border
of
coarse
hill
gravel
and
entered
the
open
veranda
door
.
Within
was
a
pleasant
room
,
glass
on
one
side
,
and
on
the
other
a
mass
of
books
.
More
books
showed
in
an
inner
room
.
On
the
floor
,
instead
of
tables
,
stood
cases
such
as
you
see
in
a
museum
,
filled
with
coins
and
queer
stone
implements
.
There
was
a
knee-hole
desk
in
the
middle
,
and
seated
at
it
,
with
some
papers
and
open
volumes
before
him
,
was
the
benevolent
old
gentleman
.
His
face
was
round
and
shiny
,
like
Mr
Pickwick
's
,
big
glasses
were
stuck
on
the
end
of
his
nose
,
and
the
top
of
his
head
was
as
bright
and
bare
as
a
glass
bottle
.
He
never
moved
when
I
entered
,
but
raised
his
placid
eyebrows
and
waited
on
me
to
speak
.
It
was
not
an
easy
job
,
with
about
five
minutes
to
spare
,
to
tell
a
stranger
who
I
was
and
what
I
wanted
,
and
to
win
his
aid
.
I
did
not
attempt
it
.
There
was
something
about
the
eye
of
the
man
before
me
,
something
so
keen
and
knowledgeable
,
that
I
could
not
find
a
word
.
I
simply
stared
at
him
and
stuttered
.
"
You
seem
in
a
hurry
,
my
friend
,
"
he
said
slowly
.
I
nodded
towards
the
window
.
It
gave
a
prospect
across
the
moor
through
a
gap
in
the
plantation
,
and
revealed
certain
figures
half
a
mile
off
straggling
through
the
heather
.
"
Ah
,
I
see
,
"
he
said
,
and
took
up
a
pair
of
field-glasses
through
which
he
patiently
scrutinized
the
figures
.
