15/20 Every half-mile you cover seems like two. You can hardly believe you are only where you are, and you are convinced that the map must be wrong; and, when you have trudged along for what seems to you at least ten miles, and still the lock is not in sight, you begin to seriously fear that somebody must have sneaked it, and run off with it. I was out with a young lady--cousin on my mother's side--and we were pulling down to Goring. It was rather late, and we were anxious to get in--at least _she_ was anxious to get in. |