But the cuckoo was early that spring and had been heard by some from the middle of March.

At length, about half-past ten o'clock, we caught sight of a number of people walking in a kind of straggling procession by a path which crossed ours at right angles, headed by a stout old man in a black smock frock and brown leggings, who carried a big book in one hand.

One of the processionists we spoke to told us they came from a hamlet a mile away on the borders of the wood and were on their way to church.

We elected to follow them, thinking that the church was at some neighbouring village; to our surprise we found it was in the wood, with no other building in sight--a small ancient-looking church built on a raised mound, surrounded by a wide shallow grass-grown trench, on the border of a marshy stream.

The people went in and took their seats, while we remained standing just by the door.