and never proceeded a syllable further than the end of the second line,—
"when birds are about and singing;"
from the last word of which, after a brief pause, it invariably started forth into joyous "iteration."
Presently a heavier, yet still more rapid, step than that of the youth was heard behind; and, as it overtook the latter, a loud, clear, good- humoured voice gave the salutation of the evening. The tone in which this courtesy was returned was frank, distinct, and peculiarly harmonious.
"Good evening, my friend. How far is it to W——? I hope I am not out of the direct road?"
"To W——, sir?" said the man, touching his hat, as he perceived, in spite of the dusk, something in the air and voice of his new acquaintance which called for a greater degree of respect than he was at first disposed to accord to a pedestrian traveller,—"to W——, sir? why, you will not surely go there to-night? it is more than eight miles distant, and the roads none of the best"
"Now, a curse on all rogues!" quoth the youth, with a serious sort of vivacity. "Why, the miller at the foot of the hill assured me I should be at my journey's end in less than an hour."
"He may have said right, sir," returned the man, "yet you will not reach W—— in twice that time."
"How do you mean?" said the younger stranger.
"Why, that you may for once force a miller to speak truth in spite of himself, and make a public-house, about three miles hence, the end of your day's journey."