"Those house them best who house for secrecy."--THOMAS HARDY.
"There is one distinct advantage in my humble chariot," Isabella said presently, "and that is that you have plenty of time to give your full attention to the scenery as you pass. If we were dashing along in a motor I should not have time to tell you that those two flat stones over there," she pointed in the direction as she spoke, "mark the resting-place of the last highwayman who ever disturbed the peace of these parts. He seems to have been a most mysterious person, by all accounts, and he rode a white horse--surely a very foolish colour for a highwayman to choose--and he kept the countryside in a state of terror. He was caught at last--it would take too long to tell you the story of his final escapade and capture--and hung upon that pine-tree.
"It appears that, within an hour of his execution, while the sheriff and his men were still upon the moor, his body disappeared. It was spirited away. And the country-people will tell you quite plainly that the Old Gentleman came in person to fetch him. That, of course, may, or may not, be true, but the curious part of it is that those two stones--they are a fair size, as you can see--were placed there in that position the same night. By the same agency, of course. Very civil of the Old Gentleman to leave a memento of his visit, wasn't it? And since then, of course, he rides at night upon his white horse on Bessmoor, as every self-respecting highwayman who has swung for his crimes should. I cannot say that I have ever had the pleasure of seeing him, but of course I must believe in him. He is quite the most notorious person on Bessmoor--the 'White Horse Rider' as they call him.
"You ask Mrs. Palling, the ancient lady who is good enough to 'do' for me; she is quite what one might call an intimate friend of his, she seems so well acquainted with his movements.
"Now, here we are at the cross-roads. Here we turn to the left and go down what we call a 'loke' in local parlance--in other words a cul-de-sac. And now, over there, you can see the chimney of my domicile. It only boasts of one. The other belongs to my good friend and neighbour the afore-mentioned Mrs. Palling, a most refreshing person whose acquaintance you should certainly make. She would amuse you. She is great on signs and portents, and won't even make a loaf of bread unless the moment is favourable. Her favourite hobby is 'Bees,' but I shouldn't use the word 'hobby,' I should rather say they are her household deities. She consults them about every detail, and informs them of every occurrence. I only trust they have permitted her to keep my fire burning, and then you shall soon have a cup of tea."