“Ah!”
They went down the hill and through the hollow, came up the side of another higher hill, and then looked down on the village of Angleton in the vale at its foot.
On the top of the next hill stood the Old Church of Anglewood in full view.
The driver stopped his horse while they looked at the village in the vale and the church on the hill beyond.
“Wull I drive to the Anglesea Arms, maister?” inquired the driver, as he set his horse in motion again.
“No,” replied the squire, in deference to Wynnette. He had “won his spurs elsewhere,” no doubt, but the chickpecked papa was a little afraid of his baby. “No; but I want to stop at the village for a few minutes. Is there a newspaper published at Angleton?”
“Yes, sir. T’ Angleton ’Wertiser it be,” replied the man.
“Very well, then. Drive to the office of that paper.”
“Yes, maister.”
They were now descending a steep road, between low stone walls, leading down into the main street of the village and past the one public house, the one general store, the doctor’s office and surgery, the lawyer’s office, and finally the printing and publishing office of the Angleton Advertiser.