that mused on the flowery fables, and suddenly it was morning. You
saw the outlines of the sheep all of a sudden, the shepherd counted
them, no wolf had come, you could see them all quite clearly. And in
the pale light of the earliest morning the third hansom appeared, with
its lamps still burning, looking ridiculous in the daylight. They came
out of the East with the sleet and were all going due westwards, and
the occupant of the third cab also wore evening dress.

Calmly that Manchu shepherd, without curiosity, still less with
wonder, but as one who would see whatever life has to show him, stood
for four hours to see if another would come. The sleet and the East
wind continued. And at the end of four hours another came. The
driver was urging it on as fast as he could, as though he were making
the most of the daylight, his cabby's cape was flapping wildly about
him; inside the cab a man in evening dress was being jolted up and
down by the unevenness of the plain.

This was of course that famous race from Pittsburg to Piccadilly,
going round by the long way, that started one night after dinner from
Mr. Flagdrop's house, and was won by Mr. Kagg, driving the Honourable
Alfred Fortescue, whose father it will be remembered was Hagar
Dermstein, and became (by Letters Patent) Sir Edgar Fortescue, and
finally Lord St. George.

The Manchu shepherd stood there till evening, and when he saw that no
more cabs would come, turned homeward in search of food.

And the rice prepared for him was hot and good, all the more after the
bitter coldness of that sleet. And when he had consumed it her
perused his experience, turning over again in his mind each detail of