When, after the three days' rest, the off-leader had been coaxed into proper driving condition, they started off once more, but rather late in the afternoon, planning to take things in quite leisurely fashion, out of regard for the same off-leader, and depending upon the wonderful English twilight to bring them into Keswick before ten o'clock. It happened to be a local holiday in Cumberland, and as a result here and there they encountered a solitary specimen of humanity prone upon his back or his face, just as it chanced, by the roadside, or, not quite so badly off as that, reeling along to wherever home might be in that apparently houseless region. At six o'clock, on one of the highest points on the road that leads to Keswick, they stopped at the Nag's Head, a typical roadside inn, for supper, the sounds of revelry in whose tap-room at once accounted for the sorry customers they had met upon the road before they reached it. It was exceedingly interesting to the American contingent of the party to gain a little insight into the life of the English “navvies;” and they passed the little tap-room, reeking with smoke and smelling of pipes and beer mugs, rather more often than circumstances would warrant, for the sake of looking in on the jolly fellows, and catching a sentence or so of their almost unintelligible dialect. A truce to all this, however, for fear you should imagine, and with reason, that even at this late stage I am going to fare so wide of my province of story-teller as to conduct you in guide-book fashion through the counties of Westmoreland and Cumberland. But, nevertheless, up to this same Nag's Head Inn we simply had to come, because some one else, in whom we have an interest, is coming there too as fast as a good road-horse can carry him. It seems that opposite the Nag's Head Inn the Church of England has built a tiny edifice, and as though to apologize for the apparent unreasonableness of building any church there whatsoever, they have made a most miniature affair of it. A placard suspended within proclaims the fact that it is the smallest church in all England, and beneath it a contribution-box, of dimensions out of all proportion to the surroundings, invites spare shillings for the maintenance of the lonely little parish.