We now start in earnest for the last twenty miles of our journey to Shrewsbury, where we are to stay for the night. C.F. says we can do it easily without leaving our saddles. When we had covered twelve miles and reached a little village called Cressat C.F. was sure something was wrong with the machine and would have me off to look. There was nothing wrong, and I immediately saw the deception. We had passed a House Pursuant, and C.F. said it was against his principles when cycling. We turned round and found a miniature Ashbourne smoker was in progress and C.F. sang his only song "The Leathern Bottle". This fetched them instantly, and we remained until they turned us out.
Saturday morning, how sad this was the last day of our happy pilgrimage. C.F. wanted to delay it as long as possible, and I had to fling furniture at him to get him out of bed. What a glorious morning! How the birds did sing! Our only and continuous regret was the Chief had not the passenger garden seat. I believe C.F. would have run all the way on his feet if only the Chief had been with us.
We take a circuitous route from Shrewsbury to Chester, so that we can view Candid Friend's new country cottage at Malpas. We shall visit him when the bloom is on the peach. At Chester we met the Scout Van, with the Lone Scout, Dodd, and Campbell in charge. Here we had to part, but before going the Lone Scout told me that the van horse was a daisy to go up hill, but they had to push down. So different from its owner on a tandem!