The Pit-Prop Syndicate | Page 5

he bumped along.
He slackened speed when he reached the place where the lorry had
vanished, and then he saw a narrow lane just wide enough to allow the
big vehicle to pass, which curved away between the tree stems. The

surface was badly cut up with wheel tracks, so much so that Merriman
decided he could not ride it. He therefore dismounted, hid his bicycle
among the trees, and pushed on down the lane on foot. He was
convinced from his knowledge of the country that the latter must be a
cul-de-sac, at the end of which he would find the lorry. This he could
hear not far away, chugging slowly on in front of him.
The lane twisted incessantly, apparently to avoid the larger trees. The
surface was the virgin soil of the forest only, but the ruts had been
filled roughly with broken stones.
Merriman strode on, and suddenly, as he rounded one of the bends, he
got the surprise of his life.
Coming to meet him along the lane was a girl. This in itself was
perhaps not remarkable, but this girl seemed so out of place amid such
surroundings, or even in such a district, that Merriman was quite taken
aback.
She was of medium height, slender and graceful as a lily, and looked
about three-and-twenty. She was a study in brown. On her head was a
brown tam, a rich, warm brown, like the brown of autumn bracken on
the moor. She wore a brown jumper, brown skirt, brown stockings and
little brown brogued shoes. As she came closer, Merriman saw that her
eyes, friendly, honest eyes, were a shade of golden brown, and that a
hint of gold also gleamed in the brown of her hair. She was pretty, not
classically beautiful, but very charming and attractive-looking. She
walked with the free, easy movement of one accustomed to an
out-of-door life.
As they drew abreast Merriman pulled off his cap.
"Pardon, mademoiselle," he said in his somewhat halting French, "but
can you tell me if I could get some petrol close by?" and in a few words
he explained his predicament.
She looked him over with a sharp, scrutinizing glance. Apparently
satisfied, she smiled slightly and replied: .

"But certainly, monsieur. Come to the mill and my father will get you
some. He is the manager."
She spoke even more haltingly than he had, and with no semblance of a
French accent - the French rather of an English school. He stared at her.
"But you're English!" he cried in surprise.
She laughed lightly.
"Of course I'm English," she answered. "Why shouldn't I be English?
But I don't think you're very polite about it, you know."
He apologized in some confusion. It was the unexpectedness of
meeting a fellow-countryman in this out of the way wood . . . It was . . .
He did not mean. . . .
"You want to say my French is not really so bad after all?" she said
relentlessly, and then: "I can tell you it's a lot better than when we came
here."
"Then you are a newcomer?"
"We're not out very long. It's rather a change from London, as you may
imagine. But it's not such a bad country as it looks. At first I thought it
would be dreadful, but I have grown to like it."
She had turned with him, and they were now walking together between
the tall, straight stems of the trees.
"I'm a Londoner," said Merriman slowly. "I wonder if we have any
mutual acquaintances?"
"It's hardly likely. Since my mother died some years ago we have lived
very quietly, and gone out very little."
Merriman did not wish to appear inquisitive. He made a suitable reply
and, turning the conversation to the country, told her of his day's ride.
She listened eagerly, and it was borne in upon him that she was lonely,

and delighted to have anyone to talk to. She certainly seemed a
charming girl, simple, natural and friendly, and obviously a lady.
But soon their walk came to an end. Some quarter of a mile from the
wood the lane debouched into a large, D-shaped clearing. It had
evidently been recently made, for the tops of many of the tree-stumps
dotted thickly over the ground were still white. Round the semicircle of
the forest trees were lying cut, some with their branches still intact,
others stripped clear to long, straight poles. Two small gangs of men
were at work, one felling, the other lopping.
Across the clearing, forming its other boundary and the straight side of
the D, ran a river, apparently from its direction that which Merriman
had looked down on from the road bridge. It was wider here, a fine
stretch of water, though still