had a good breakfast, and walked straight off to Hayfield, at the foot
of the Kinder Scout--a pleasant, busy little town, reached through a
lovely valley, and with two sweetly pretty women in it. At least they
were sweetly pretty then; one passed me on the bridge and, I think,
smiled; and the other was standing at an open door, making an
unremunerative investment of kisses upon a red-faced baby. But it is
years ago, and I dare say they have both grown stout and snappish
since that time. Coming back, I saw an old man breaking stones, and
it roused such strong longing in me to use my arms that I offered him
a drink to let me take his place. He was a kindly old man and he
humored me. I went for those stones with the accumulated energy of
three weeks, and did more work in half an hour than he had done all
day. But it did not make him jealous.

Having taken the plunge, I went further and further into dissipation,
going out for a long walk every morning and listening to the band in
the pavilion every evening. But the days still passed slowly
notwithstanding, and I was heartily glad when the last one came and I
was being whirled away from gouty, consumptive Buxton to London with
its stern work and life. I looked out of the carriage as we rushed
through Hendon in the evening. The lurid glare overhanging the mighty
city seemed to warm my heart, and when, later on, my cab rattled out
of St. Pancras' station, the old familiar roar that came swelling up
around me sounded the sweetest music I had heard for many a long day.

I certainly did not enjoy that month's idling. I like idling when I
ought not to be idling; not when it is the only thing I have to do.
That is my pig-headed nature. The time when I like best to stand with
my back to the fire, calculating how much I owe, is when my desk is
heaped highest with letters that must be answered by the next post.