Tommy nodded.
"He wrote one just here, where we're sitting."
"Did he, by Jove—which was it?"
Tommy pondered.
"I forget most of it, but it was jolly good. He told it me one day on the downs, just as we met a shepherd singing, and it was about life and enterprise, and all that sort of thing, and love on the upland road and—and God beyond the crest."
"Sounds good, and partly true."
"How do you mean; why isn't it altogether true?"
The stranger smoked a minute or two in silence, then:
"Where is the crest?" he asked.
Tommy pointed up into the twilight.