Philip Van Doren Stern (ed) (198 page)

I
looked
at
myself
so
for
a
mortal
moment,
and
I
awakened.

From
The Collected Ghost Stories
of M. R. James,
reprinted
by
permission of Edward Arnold & Co.

A
View from a Hill

By M. R. JAMES

HOW
PLEASANT IT CAN BE, ALONE IN A FIRST-CLASS
RAILWAY CARRIAGE,

on
the first day of a holiday that is to be fairly long, to dawdle through a bit
of English country that is unfamiliar, stopping at every station. You have a
map open on your knee, and you pick out the villages that lie to right and left
by their church towers. You marvel at the complete stillness that attends your
stoppage at the stations, broken only by a footstep crunching the gravel. Yet
perhaps that is best experienced after sundown, and the traveller
I
have in mind was making his leisurely progress on a sunny afternoon in
the latter half of June.

He was in the depths of the country. I need
not particularize further than to say that if you divided the map of England
into four quarters, he would have been found in the south-westem of them.

He was a man of academic pursuits, and his term was just over. He was on
his way to meet a new friend, older than himself. The two of them had met first
on an official inquiry in town, had found that they had many tastes and habits
in common, liked each other, and the result was an invitation from Squire
Richards to Mr. Fanshawe which was now taking effect.

The journey ended about five o'clock.
Fanshawe was told by a cheerful country porter that the car from the Hall had
been up to the station and left a message that something had to be fetched from
half a mile farther on, and would the gentleman please to wait a few min
utes
till
it
came
back?
"But
I
see,"
continued
the
porter,
"as
you've got
your
bysticle,
and
very
like
you'd
find
it
pleasanter
to
ride
up
to the
'All
yourself.
Straight
up
the
road
'ere,
and
then
first
turn
to
the left—it
ain't
above
two
mile—and
I'll
see
as
your
things
is
put
in
the car
for
you.
You'll
excuse
me
mentioning
it,
only
I
thought
it
were
a
nice
evening
for
a
ride.
Yes,
sir,
very
seasonable
weather
for
the
haymakers:
let
me
see,
I
have
your
bike
ticket.
Thank
you,
sir;
much obliged:
you
can't
miss
your
road,
etc.,
etc."

The
two
miles
to
the
Hall
were
just
what
was
needed,
after
the
day in
the
train,
to
dispel
somnolence
and
impart
a
wish
for
tea.
The
Hall, when
sighted,
also
promised
just
what
was
needed
in
the
way
of
a
quiet
resting-place
after
days
of
sitting
on
committees
and
college-meetings.
It
was
neither
excitingly
old
nor
depressingly
new.
Plastered walls,
sash-windows,
old
trees,
smooth
lawns,
were
the
features
which Fanshawe
noticed
as
he
came
up
the
drive.
Squire
Richards,
a
burly man
of
sixty
odd,
was
awaiting
him
in
the
porch
with
evident
pleasure.

"Tea
first,"
he
said,
"or
would
you
like
a
longer
drink?
No?
All right,
tea's
ready
in
the
garden.
Come
along,
they'll
put
your
machine away.
I
always
have
tea
under
the
lime-tree
by
the
stream
on
a
day like
this."

Nor
could
you
ask
for
a
better
place.
Midsummer
afternoon,
shade and
scent
of
a
vast
lime-tree,
cool,
swirling
water
within
five
yards.
It was
long
before
either
of
them
suggested
a
move.
But
about
six,
Mr. Richards
sat
up,
knocked
out
his
pipe,
and
said:
"Look
here,
it's
cool enough
now
to
think
of
a
stroll,
if
you're
inclined?
All
right:
then what
I
suggest
is
that
we
walk
up
the
park
and
get
on
to
the
hill-side, where
we
can
look
over
the
country.
We'll
have
a
map,
and
I'll
show you
where
things
are;
and
you
can
go
off
on
your
machine,
or
we
can take
the
car,
according
as
you
want
exercise
or
not.
If
you're
ready,
we can
start
now
and
be
back
well
before
eight,
taking
it
very
easy."