Under Honour's Flag

The late autumn afternoon was rapidly drawing in, closing ominously and sullenly, as if rebelling against the approach of the winter, and the nearer coming of the night.

Great banks of purple vapour rose in the west; and sinking towards the earth, spread abroad in hazy wreaths, which seemed to possess, in a fainter degree, the hues of their parent clouds above.

The air was heavy with moisture, which condensed and dripped from the red leaves of the sycamore, the brown of the beech, and the yellow of lime and poplar. It glistened on the rich green of the crimson-berried hollies; it begemmed the festooning webs of the weaving spiders; and brought with it a chilling breath which seemed to strike through one.

In that gloaming hour a man and youth toiled wearily up the steep hill over which the main road runs before it descends into the quaint old town of Stow Ormond; yet as they reached the summit they hastened their steps, with the air of those who were drawing near to a welcome resting-place.

The man was tall and refined-looking; and though a crisp, curling beard and full moustache hid the greater part of his face, the features visible revealed determination and strong will, and their bronzed hue showed plainly that their owner had lived beneath warmer skies than those of England. And yet, despite health and good looks and strength of will, an expression of anxiety was there; and as he walked along he appeared to be more occupied with his own thoughts than in attending to the remarks of the lad by his side, whose questions he frequently left unanswered.

The boy was so like the man that there could be little room for doubting that they were father and son; a well-built, handsome youth, with the same bronzed cheek, but with an expression on his face which indicated the utmost disgust with his surroundings. This was his first experience of a damp, chill autumn mist, and he did not like it in the least.

Both the travellers were comfortably clad, though their clothes seemed cut more for comfort than with a regard to fashion; indicating that they certainly were not from the workshop of any fashionable tailor.

Reaching the top of the hill, the two wayfarers paused; and the man, pointing down into the town which lay before them, said, with a sigh of relief:

"There you are, Ralph! That is our destination for to-night; it may be our haven for many days."

"Funny looking place," laughed the boy. "But all these English towns are funny, after the plains and the mountains. And it is funny," he added, "that I am an English boy, and yet am talking like that."

"Not funny, lad, seeing that you have never set foot in your native land before. Ah me, it is not funny to me! It comes back like the faces of old familiar friends. The scenes of childhood's happiness, and youth's hopes and follies. All changed, and yet nothing changed; and I myself unchanged, and yet most changed of all! Come," he went on, "you are tired, for we have walked a long way, and have had a long railway journey into the bargain. Unless things are altered down there, we shall find a comfortable old inn where we can put up, Ralph—a real old English inn. Quite different from the hotels where we have stopped. Come on, lad!"