CHAPTER V.


"Brother," said Mr. Caxton, "will walk with you to the Roman
encampment."

The Captain felt that this proposal was meant as the greatest peace-
offering my father could think of; for, first, it was a very long walk,
and my father detested long walks; secondly, it was the sacrifice of a
whole day's labor at the Great Work. And yet, with that quick
sensibility which only the generous possess, Uncle Roland accepted at
once the proposal. If he had not done so, my father would have had a
heavier heart for a month to come. And how could the Great Work have
got on while the author was every now and then disturbed by a twinge of
remorse?

Half an hour after breakfast, the brothers set off arm-inarm; and I
followed, a little apart, admiring how sturdily the old soldier got over
the ground, in spite of the cork leg. It was pleasant enough to listen
to their conversation, and notice the contrasts between these two
eccentric stamps from Dame Nature's ever-variable mould,--Nature, who
casts nothing in stereotype; for I do believe that not even two fleas
can be found identically the same.

My father was not a quick or minute observer of rural beauties. He had
so little of the organ of locality that I suspect he could have lost his
way in his own garden. But the Captain was exquisitely alive to
external impressions,--not a feature in the landscape escaped him. At