CHAPTER IV
HOW ALLAN CAME TO THE GARDEN
For May it was a very hot day, almost an unnaturally hot day. It was a day that might well have belonged to August.
Allan stepped it from the station, a sign post told him that Little Stretton was yet a mile to go. He took off his hat and henceforth carried it in his hand. He had read his book all the way down in the train and his mind was still lingering on it, on the book rather than on realities. So when he came to where stood an old, a very, very ancient oak, the mere relic of a once noble tree, he looked at it vaguely, and then looked beyond for the little red tiled barn that some fancy told him would be there. And it was there, but it was a very old barn and the roof had fallen in, in places and lichen was growing on the broken tiles.
Allan stared at it, he felt faintly surprised.
"Strange!" he said aloud. "Strange—why——"
He had an idea that the barn was not so old, why it ought to have been almost a new barn, had he not seen——
"Good Heavens!" he said aloud. "I must be dreaming or something——" Then he walked on rapidly. He breasted a hill and descended on the far side, following the twisting, turning road between the hedgerows all sweet with May flowers, and so came at last to a little village of red houses roofed with slabs of old Sussex stone, all green and yellow with lichen, yellow mostly.
Allan stood still and looked at the village that lay almost at his feet.
"I suppose," he said slowly. "I suppose we must, have motored through here once!"