"We are too far off the beaten track.

Only on Saturdays and holiday times there are trippers, fearful creatures who pick the bracken, walk arm in arm, and sing songs.
Tell me why you look as though you were dreaming, my preserver ?" "Look along the lane," he said softly.

"Can't you see them--the wagonette with the tired horse drawn up just on the common there--a tired, dejected-looking horse, with a piece of bracken tied on to his head to keep the flies off?
There were three men, two women and a little boy.

They drank beer and ate sandwiches behind that gorse bush there.

They called one another by their Christian names, they shouted loud personal jokes, one of the women sang.