"Why," I said, "there's the old church. We mustn't miss that."
We went and examined the old church. Then we went twice up and down the
village street, and examined that.
"Well," said Eliza, "what next?"
"Now," I replied, "we just stroll about and amuse ourselves. I feel
particularly light-hearted."
"That's breakfasting at six, that is," said Eliza. "If you could find a
quiet place, we might have a sandwich."
We went a little way along the road, and I espied a field which seemed
to me to look likely. I said to a passer-by: "I am a stranger here. Can
you tell me whether there would be any objection to our sitting in that
field?" He said, in rather an offensive and sarcastic way, that he
believed the field was open for sitting in about that hour. I did not
give him any reply, but just opened the gate for Eliza.
We sat down under the hedge, and finished our sandwiches and milk. The
church clock struck nine.
"What train do we go back by?" asked Eliza.
"Not until half-past nine to-night. There's a day for you!"
"Twelve hours and a half," said Eliza. "And we've done the sandwiches,
and done the milk, and done the church, and there's nothing else to
do."
"Except amuse ourselves," I added, as I took off my boots, which had
pained me slightly. I then dozed off.
* * * * *
Eliza woke me to say that she had read all the newspaper the sandwiches
were wrapped in, and picked some wild flowers, and the flowers had
died, and she wanted to know what the time was. It was just past
eleven.