There could scarcely be danger in such an advertisement, as the connection between the name of Meynell and the Haygarth estate is only known to ourselves." Acting upon this idea, I wrote to George Sheldon by that afternoon's post, urging him to advertise for descendants of Miss Charlotte Meynell.
Charlotte! dear name, which is a kind of music for me.

It was almost a pleasure to write that letter, because of the repetition of that delightful noun.
The next day I devoted to a drive round the neighbourhood, in a smart little dog-cart, hired on very moderate terms from mine host.

I had acquainted myself with the geography of the surrounding country; and I contrived to visit every village church within a certain radius of Huxter's Cross.

But my inspection of mildewed old books, and my heroic endurance of cold and damp in mouldy old churches, resulted in nothing but disappointment.
I returned to my "Magpie" after dark a little disheartened and thoroughly tired, but still very well pleased with my rustic quarters and my adopted county.

My landlord's horse had shown himself a very model of equine perfection.
Candles were lighted and curtains drawn in my cosy little chamber, and the table creaked beneath one of those luxurious Yorkshire teas which might wean an alderman from the coarser delights of turtle or conger-eel soup and venison.
At noon the following day a very primitive kind of postman brought me a letter from Sheldon.