found myself in the middle of twenty highschool girls who were excitedly enroute to a field hockey game. They were kids of fifteen and sixteen - and beautiful to look at. The look of "sophistication" that starts polluting our gals at that age was happily absent - and they were as unconscious of themselves as healthy young animals. Someday I'd like to get that freshness and innocent sparkle on canvas. They giggled and laughed and sang - and all God's earth seemed fresh and young again.
I settled back, smoked my pipe - and felt very glad I was living. It was an old double-decker bus - and being upstairs I just drank in the green morning landscape that stretched wherever I looked. The roads were lazy and narrow - and the hills crept higher and greener. The old bus just put-put-putted her way at a dashing five miles per up the long grades - and dashed like a fat wobbling woman down and around the other side. No one was in a hurry - particularly the bus driver. After an hour and a half's ride I changed at Blandford. The bus to Shaftesbury wouldn't be along for an hour so I went in a little tea shop and unlaxed in front of the fire. By the time I had done away with a rarebit and cup of tea I was just in time for my next ride. At noon I reached Shaftesbury, checked into the Grovenor Hotel and retired to the bar. The hotel was a terifically [sic] old place - the kind of a place, hon, where there are old plush chairs