Above each roof a gilt vane glittered, and a flock of white pigeons circled overhead or, alighting, dotted the tiles with patches of silver.
A bend of the road broke up this cluster of trees and buildings.
The long thatched house fell upon the left of the highway, and in front of it a sign-post sprang into view, with a drinking-trough below.

Directly opposite, the two blue roofs ranged themselves side by side, with long strips of garden and a thick privet hedge between them and the road.

And behind, in the direction of the marsh, the poplars stretched in an irregular line.
Now the nearer of these blue pavilions was the home of Captain Barker, who for more than two years had not crossed its threshold.
Yet he neither paused by its small blue gate nor glanced up the gravelled path.

Nor, though thirsty, did he turn aside to the porch of the Fish and Anchor Inn; but kept along the privet hedge until he came to the second blue gate.

Here he drew up and stood for a moment with his hand on the latch.
A trim lawn stretched before him to the door of the pavilion, and here, on a rustic seat before an equally rustic table, sat a long lean gentleman, in a suit of Lincoln green faced with scarlet, who gazed into a pewter tankard.