CHAPTER XV.
A MODERN COUNTRY CURATE 'He can't stroddle thuck puddle, you: can a' ?' 'He be going to try: a' will leave his shoe in it.' Such were the remarks that passed between two agricultural women who from behind the hedge were watching the approach of the curate along a deep miry lane.

Where they stood the meadow was high above the level of the lane, which was enclosed by steep banks thickly overgrown with bramble, briar, and thorn.

The meadows each side naturally drained into the hollow, which during a storm was filled with a rushing torrent, and even after a period of dry weather was still moist, for the overhanging trees prevented evaporation.

A row of sarsen stones at irregular intervals were intended to afford firm footing to the wayfarer, but they were nothing more than traps for the unwary.

Upon placing the foot on the smooth rounded surface it immediately slipped, and descended at an angle into a watery hole.