regular whale! It's the biggest trout in the world!"

She came up to me with her hand over the struggling fish. She was laughing with joy like a child, and splashing the water with her feet. I reached for the fish and then suddenly she slipped and reached for my shoulder for support. I swung my arm round her to keep her from falling and held her an instant while she gained her footing on the slippery stones. And then, somehow, the fish flopped out of the net and off the hook. I hardly noticed that it was gone. I was conscious only of holding her there in the stream. "Oh, oh!" she cried struggling away from me. "Let me go! Oh, he's gone! You've lost him! You've lost your trout!"

She stood facing me, her body rigid and anger and tears in her eyes!

"You let him go!" she kept crying. No doubt I looked very stupid and futile standing there with my rod in my hand, and the line drifted down stream. "You don't care," she said.

"I guess I'm not much of a fisherman." She must have seen something in my face then for she reddened and looked down. Then she turned her back and walked slowly up against the current.

"Don't go," I said, and remembered the day before when she had looked so. The freedom had gone from her body and something of her grace as she walked through the water, splashing now, carelessly.

She looked back. She was still blushing deeply and there was a sort of hurt anger in her eyes.

"Your line will get tangled," she said. I turned and saw that it had caught in a stump. By the time I had recovered it she had come out of the stream and was carrying her shoes and stockings behind a clump of bushes.

When she came back she was laughing as if the whole incident had been forgotten. She ran up to the horse and began petting him.

"Can I ride him," she cried. you were funny with that trout. ride him?"

"My, Can I

She was laughing and teasing at once like a child when two thoughts are crowding each other in its mind.

"Do you know how to ride?"
"Sure I can ride."

In an instant she was off down the road with Chesty at a surprised gallop. She rode as she did everything else, supple, relaxed, and beautifully balanced. I sat down and waited for her, slowly drawing on my socks and winding my puttees. I don't know how long I waited, but I know that an uncounted multitude of highcolored thoughts flooded my mind. I think in that little interval I had evolved the most fanciful visions that ever tricked a human brain not definitely delirious. It is pleasant enough now to laugh at them. I thought, for instance, of Annie in New York in strange clothes, dancing. . . . I was young then and my fancy moved, sometimes, out of the confining streets of reason and experience.

When Annie came back, she said:
"I met your friend."

"Caldwell?" I said in sudden tumult. She laughed in her musical way. I imagine, really, that it was just a country girl's laugh.

We stayed that night, and the next day when there was hardly a remnant of Bay's sore, Caldwell could not bring himself to leave.

"I'm getting to like these people," he said.

He did not mention Annie. I don't think Caldwell has ever mentioned Annie. He talked a good deal that day about the Joneses and said the boy Joe would be better for a spanking. I remember becoming controversial when he said that and, by some curious trick of perversity, taking Joe's part. I remember getting so earnest about it that I came finally to a rather kindly feeling for the boy.

Caldwell and I were at odds about everything that day. We disputed about Bay's sore and about Bickmore's Gall Cure, and about the price per pound for oats and a dozen other trifles on which we habitually agreed. In the afternoon we separated again, Caldwell setting out on foot and I on horseback in opposite directions.

I had a long, lonely ride, beset with many thoughts. I searched the stream for Annie but she was nowhere. I remembered unhappily that I did not even know where she lived or even her name.

But I saw he needed no companion. He strode off and was lost down the road.

When the moon came up I made an excuse to Mrs. Jones and wandered down to the stream. I followed it with my eyes on the ground and a half-consciousness of the beauty of the moon shadows in the woods. I think now that I have never since known so soft and fine a night with the uncertain light playing in the water and the night creatures tuning into their symphony.

I had sat long time on the stream bank at the place where we had fished, thinking back over the little incidents that had played themselves there. And what manner of other things I do not, and have no wish to, remember. I looked up at a sound and saw Annie moving down the road with the moon full on her face. Her face was transformed in the light; all the child-look gone yet a frightened eagerness in her eyes.

A torrent of thoughts ran through me and I moved to speak to her. As I turned I heard steps running down the road and

a large figure, dark against the pale east sky, came up to her. In an instant she was in his arms and he was kissing her and crushing her in an uncontrolled way while she clung to him with her arms about his neck, her whole being absorbed in the instant's passion. The universe whirled before me and the stars burst like rain out of the sky and the dark crashed in on me and left me trembling.

There was a short, sharp cry from the woods opposite. The two on the road fell apart an instant, then joined hands and ran down the road. I looked across to the dark bit of woods whence the cry had come and saw Caldwell's figure against the darker trees. He saw me at the same time and came to join me.

"Did you see?" he said. "Yes."

He laughed then, a little sound in the back of his throat.

I said, because I felt I must say something, "It was Joe, wasn't it?" But Caldwell did not answer.

W

HEN Sir William Osler, having achieved the highest honors in the medical world, accepted the Regius Professorship of Medicine, at Oxford, the most honored post in medicine that the United Kingdom can offer, he became master of the almshouse in which dwelt the thirteen aged pensioners of Ewelme. And among all who mourned the passing of the man who had so richly contributed to the academic and scientific world, no individual group more truly grieved for the departure of a friend and benefactor than did these thirteen inmates of the historic almshouse, which for three centuries has been linked with the famous Oxford professorship.

It was a special privilege to visit Ewelme last summer in company with Lady Osler, who is regarded by the villagers in this picturesque spot as "Lady Bountiful," she having endeavored in every way in her power to supplement her husband's work for the betterment of the village folk as well as the old pensioners.

The motor trip of fifteen miles through the lovely country outside of Oxford included glimpses of several quaint English towns: Nuneham, famed for its splendid park, to which Hawthorne paid an enthusiastic tribute; Dorchester, with its historic abbey; and Benson, with its Saxon traditions and interesting church; the drive ended at the picturesque hillside on which is perched the ancient church of Ewelme, which has stood guard upon this slope for nigh five hundred years, having escaped the ravages of the Puritans through the efforts of a native son of Ewelme, an officer in the Parliamentary forces, who was able to protect the fine old edifice.

Close by the church cluster the build-
VOL. LXXVII.—30

ings of the rectory and almshouse, while just below is situated the school, which formed part of the original endowment. A short walk up the thickly wooded slope brought one on this especial summer day into a centre of activity. A village fête was taking place, and tables were spread under the trees, covered with articles for sale, most of them being the handiwork, flowers, and garden products of the little community. From an adjacent porch, where stood the rector of the church, Lady Osler "opened the bazaar," making a brief address expressive of her interest in the villagers, to whom she gave a cordial invitation to visit her home at Oxford. After a survey of the tables, the children's sports, and other features, tea was partaken of under the trees, and then the visitors wandered back through the garden that climbed the hillside to the quaint almshouse.

This institution, which, since its foundation in 1437, has always been the home of thirteen aged pensioners, is without doubt one of the most unique in England, and it is probable that no other almshouse in the world can rival it in picturesqueness or in historic associations.

The story of its origin, and that of the adjoining buildings, reads like a fairy-tale, beginning:

"Once upon a time there lived a lovely Princess, whose name was Alice. She lived a long and useful life, which was replete with action and romance. She had two husbands, who were in turn linked with the most stirring events in England; and she herself played no small part in the political life of her day. She was the granddaughter of the first great English poet, Geoffrey Chaucer, and dwelt in a magnificent manor-house at Ewelme Park. She, with her second husband, William de la Pole, built the church where she now lies buried in an alabaster tomb,

417

which is unsurpassed in beauty by any similar monument in England. It bears the following inscription:

"Pray for the soul of the most serene Princess Alice, Duchess of Suffolk, patron of this church and first foundress of this Almshouse, who died the 20th day of May in the year 1475.'

The statutes of the almshouse, as drawn up by the Duke and Duchess of Suffolk, remain among the treasured documents of this institution. They were written on vellum, and devised to meet all possible contingencies which might arise, with elaborate directions for future management of the home, including plans for daily religious services. The only injunction laid upon the almsmen was that they should properly conduct themselves, and that they should, once each year, "pray for the soul of Duchess Alice."

For nearly five centuries this quaint almshouse has sheltered its thirteen pensioners, and still the good work goes on, with an unbroken procession of aged incumbents, who have dwelt peacefully in their rooms about the quadrangle, looking out on the picturesque brick courtyard, from the centre of which their watersupply is pumped. Not alone are old men admitted to this home, but in case one of the almsmen has a wife, she also is allowed to dwell there with him.

From the clear, sparkling water that gushes from the hillside, close by the church, the village has derived its name "Ewelme," which is said to mean a "spring," or "source of a river." This stream runs through the village and on to the adjacent towns. It may be seen as one approaches Ewelme, flowing along at the right of the road, in place of any sidewalk, and held in bounds by a stone border. Thus it glides on past many gateways, from which emerge small rustic bridges, across which householders must step in order to reach the street. And the innumerable cress-beds that skirt the stream furnish the leading industry of Ewelme, which sends its water-cress all over England.

From the first master of the almshouse, Sir John Seynesbury, who was installed in 1442, one may scan the long list of masters until one reaches the date 1904, and the name of Sir William Osler, whose minis

trations for the almsmen were manifold, and whose memory is dearly prized by all at Ewelme.

It was in 1603 that King James I annexed the mastership of Ewelme to the regius professorship at Oxford, thereby increasing the income of the professorship, which was deemed very meagre, and this arrangement has been continued up to the present time.

Therefore it was that with the acceptance of this chair Sir William became the guardian of the thirteen pensioners. And straightway, with his characteristic energy and love of proper sanitation, he set about improving the primitive conditions of the buildings where they dwelt.

From the western door of the church a covered passage leads to the entrance of the almshouse, and just above and looking down on the old structure are the rooms reserved for the master. In these Sir William and Lady Osler spent many happy days in quiet and seclusion, meanwhile contributing to the welfare of the old pensioners.

A flight of steps descends into the ancient quadrangle, around which runs a cloister, open upon the inner side and fringed with boxes of bright geraniums; this cloister is paved with brick and roofed with ancient timber, the barge-boards of the gables on each of the four sides being richly carved. The doors of the almsmen's dwellings open upon this cloister, the front walls being constructed of brick and timber in a herring-bone pattern. Each of the thirteen pensioners has two rooms, with an allowance of twelve shillings a week; a doctor and nurse being provided in case of illness. (The trained nurse who presides over this masculine household lives in a picturesque stone cottage close by.) The almsmen are allowed to purchase their own food if they desire to do so, and may prepare it as they like, each one in his small individual home. This plan gives each a sense of personal freedom unusual in such institutions.

Pre-eminent among the benefits conferred upon this place by Sir William Osler was the rescue and restoration of many priceless documents which had for years been locked up in an antiquated safe, where they had become saturated with dampness and covered with mould.