lay on the grass at the edge of the road, which was only a few steps
away.

"I saw you slip in, and thought perhaps I might help. You were trying to
reach something, weren't you?"

"It doesn't matter, thank you," said Lydia, whose cheeks had gone pink.

The young man looked at her, and became still more civil.

"What was it? That piece of paper? Oh, I'll get it in a moment."

And splashing from stone to stone in the river-bed, he had soon reached a
point where, with the aid of Lydia's stick, the bedraggled cutting was
soon fished out and returned to its owner. Lydia thanked him.

"But you've wet both your feet!" She looked at them, with concern. "Won't
it be very uncomfortable, bicycling?"

"I haven't far to go. Oh, by the way, I was just looking out for somebody
to ask--about this road--and I couldn't see a soul, till just as I came
out of the little wood there"--he pointed--"I saw you--slipping in."

They both laughed. Lydia returned to her camp stool, and began to put up
her sketching things.

"What is it you want to know?"

"Is this the road for Whitebeck?"