Kingsley's "Westward Ho!" We did not approach Clovelly finally
through the beautiful Hobby Drive, laid out in former years by one
of the Hamlyn ladies of Clovelly Court, but by the turnpike road,
which, however, was not uninteresting. It had been market-day at
Bideford and there were many market carts and "jingoes" on the
road, with perhaps a heap of yellow straw inside and a man and a
rosy boy on the seat. The roadway was prettily bordered with
broom, wild honeysuckle, fox-glove, and single roses, and there was
a certain charming post-office called the Fairy Cross, in a garden
of blooming fuchsias, where Egeria almost insisted upon living and
officiating as postmistress.

All at once our driver checked his horses on the brink of a hill,
apparently leading nowhere in particular.

"What is it?" asked Mrs. Jack, who is always expecting accidents.

"Clovelly, mum."

"Clovelly!" we repeated automatically, gazing about us on every
side for a roof, a chimney, or a sign of habitation.

"You'll find it, mum, as you walk down-along."

"How charming!" cried Egeria, who loves the picturesque. "Towns
are generally so obtrusive; isn't it nice to know that Clovelly is
here and that all we have to do is to walk 'down-along' and find
it? Come, Tommy. Ho, for the stone staircase!"

We who were left behind discovered by more questioning that one