I pleaded the heat I was in from
walking, and the danger for an old fellow of taking cold in a
drive through the cool air; and then, as old fellows do, we
bantered each other about our ages, each claiming to be older
than the other, and the kind, sweet young girl sat listening with
that tolerance of youth for the triviality of age which is so
charming. When he could do no more, he said he was sorry, and
wished me luck, and drove on; and I being by this time tired with
my three miles' tramp, took advantage of a wayside farmhouse, the
first in all the distance, and went in and asked for a cup of
tea.
The farm-wife, who came in out of her back garden to answer my
knock, pleaded regretfully that her fire was down; but she
thought I could get tea at the next house; and she was very
conversable about the battle-field. She did not know just where
it was, but she was sure it was quite a mile farther on; and at
that I gave up the hope of it along with the tea. This is partly
the reader's loss, for I have no doubt I could have been very
graphic about it if I had found it; but as for Marston Moor, I
feel pretty certain that if it ever existed it does not now.
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