“I’d rather you went home.”

“Nay, I’m stoppin’,” protested Maurice.

“He wants to do his courting,” Henry enlightened them.

The father thought seriously about it.

“I don’t know � “ he mused, rather perturbed.

But Maurice stayed. Towards eight o’clock, after sundown, the men mounted their bicycles, the father put the horse in the float, and all departed. Maurice stood in the gap of the hedge and watched them go, the cart rolling and swinging downhill, over the grass stubble, the cyclists dipping swiftly like shadows in front. All passed through the gate, there was a quick clatter of hoofs on the roadway under