That is, it began with my stepping up the valley to the farm for a dollop of hot water--I'd a thimbleful of schnapps in my flask here--and the night turning chilly, and me remembering that Mrs.Nankivel up to the farm was keeping the kettle on the boil, because she promised as much only last night, knowing my stomach to be susceptible.

Well, sir, not meaning to be away more'n a moment--as I was going up the meadow, but keeping along the withy-bed, you understand ?--and if I hadn't taken that road, more by instinct than anything else--" "Oh, for Heaven's sake, if you've anything important to say, say it! In another five minutes the boats will be here!" "I don't know what you'd call 'important,'" answered the Lieutenant, in an aggrieved tone.

"As I was telling, I got to where the withy-bed ends at the foot of the orchard below the house.
The orchard, as you know, runs down on one side of the stream, and 'tother side there's the grass meadow they call Little Parc.

Just at that moment, if you'll believe me, I heard a man sneeze, and 'pon top of that a noise like a horse's bit shaken--a sort of jingly sound, not ten paces off, t'other side of the withies.

'Tis a curious habit of mine--and you may or may not have noticed it--but I never can hear another person sneeze without wanting to sneeze too.