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'That was clover, that warm whiff on the breeze,' he remarked; 'and those are cows we hear cropping the grass behind us and blowing softly between mouthfuls.

There is a sound of distant reapers, and yonder rises a blue line of cottage smoke against the woodland.

The river runs somewhere close by, for I hear the call of a moorhen, and I see by your build that you're a freshwater mariner.

Everything seems asleep, and yet going on all the time.

It is a goodly life that you lead, friend; no doubt the best in the world, if only you are strong enough to lead it!'

'Yes, it's THE life, the only life, to live,' responded the Water Rat dreamily, and without his usual whole-hearted conviction.

'I did not say exactly that,' replied the stranger cautiously; 'but no doubt it's the best.

I've tried it, and I know.

And because I've just tried it-six months of it-and know it's the best, here am I, footsore and hungry, tramping away from it, tramping southward, following the old call, back to the old life, THE life which is mine and which will not let me go.'

'Is this, then, yet another of them?' mused the Rat.

'And where have you just come from?' he asked.

He hardly dared to ask where he was bound for; he seemed to know the answer only too well.

'Nice little farm,' replied the wayfarer, briefly.

Upalong in that direction'-he nodded northwards.

'Never mind about it.

I had everything I could want-everything I had any right to expect of life, and more; and here I am! Glad to be here all the same, though, glad to be here! So many miles further on the road, so many hours nearer to my heart's desire!'

His shining eyes held fast to the horizon, and he seemed to be listening for some sound that was wanting from that inland acreage, vocal as it was with the cheerful music of pasturage and farmyard.

'You are not one of US,' said the Water Rat, 'nor yet a farmer; nor even, I should judge, of this country.'

'Right,' replied the stranger.

'I'm a seafaring rat, I am, and the port I originally hail from is Constantinople, though I'm a sort of a foreigner there too, in a manner of speaking.

You will have heard of Constantinople, friend? A fair city, and an ancient and glorious one.

And you may have heard, too, of Sigurd, King of Norway, and how he sailed thither with sixty ships, and how he and his men rode up through streets all canopied in their honour with purple and gold; and how the Emperor and Empress came down and banqueted with him on board his ship.

When Sigurd returned home, many of his Northmen remained behind and entered the Emperor's body-guard, and my ancestor, a Norwegian born, stayed behind too, with the ships that Sigurd gave the Emperor.

Seafarers we have ever been, and no wonder; as for me, the city of my birth is no more my home than any pleasant port between there and the London River.

I know them all, and they know me.

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