ale-houses along the way. No King's Arms or Waggon and Horses or Jolly Ploughboy where one may sit on a bench well-polished by generations of corduroyed hindquarters and shut out the smiling horizon with a tankard's rim. "Oh land of freedom!" cried Madrigal, ironically, clucking his tongue upon a drouthy palate.
From Foxcroft there is a tempting blue vista up a tributary valley toward Newtown Square, which would be well worth exploring; but Madrigal and Doggerel turned away through another covered bridge in order to keep along the trend of Darby. A detour along the road brought them back to the creek at a magnificent stone bridge of three arches. The man who designed that bridge was a true artist, and had studied the old English bridges. And at this corner stands a curious old house bearing the inscription Ludwig's Lust (Ludwig's Pleasure) Built 1774, Remodelled 1910. As the pedestrians stood admiring, a car drove up to the door, and the hapless Doggerel created some irritation by hopefully asking one of the motorists if the place were an inn.
After Ludwig's Lust came the most enchanting stretch of the journey. The road runs close by the creek, which foams along a stony course under an aisle of trees. Where Wigwam Run joins the creek is a group of farm buildings and a wayside spring of perfect water. It was sorry to see a beautiful old outhouse of dappled stonework being pickaxed into rubble. At this point is the fork of Darby and
