IV + 

Gian-Luca was up betimes the next morning, and his feet⁠—thanks perhaps to Fabio’s prescription⁠—were certainly much less painful. In Winchester he stopped to buy provisions, which he stuffed away in his knapsack; then he started to tramp again in good earnest, lured on by the thought of the forest. He had never been in this part of the country, and he noticed many pleasant things about it; all the cottages, for instance, were heavily thatched, and one cottage that he passed had a queer little window shaped like an eye, just under its hair, which gave it an inquisitive appearance. The walls, too, were thatched, the thatch sitting astride them, jauntily riding their tops. + 

The road became increasingly lovely; it was bordered once more with trees. “They look strong and proud and happy!” thought Gian-Luca, and he wondered if they felt the nearness of the forest, and if that was what made them look so happy. + 

He came to the sleepy town of Romsey, which he left by way of the old stone bridge that spans the River Test; the water was chuckling softly to itself, swollen by April rains. At the top of a steep hill he sat down to rest, eating his food by the roadside. A gipsy caravan crawled up towards him, and its inmates nodded and smiled at Gian-Luca; they had very bright eyes, like Nerone’s skylarks, only their eyes looked free. Smoke was coming from the chimney of their small house on wheels; no doubt they were cooking their breakfast. A whiff of fried bacon reached Gian-Luca, and two lean lurcher dogs dashed backwards and forwards, barking in anticipation. + 

“Where are you going to?” shouted Gian-Luca. + 

And the driver waved a brown hand: “To the forest,” he shouted loudly in his turn, in order to be heard above the barking. + 

Gian-Luca lay back and smiled in the sunshine, repeating the happy words; then he thought: “They will not have it all to themselves, for Gian-Luca is going there too.” + 

He got up quickly and shouldered his knapsack, following in the wake of the gipsies. The aspect of the country was very subtly changing, though the change was not easy to define. The trees grew no thicker, nor were there more of them, yet the whole landscape seemed suggestive of trees⁠—for the strange, mysterious spirit of the forest hung over it like a spell. Past the village of Ower, plantations of young firs stood ankle deep in heather that was waiting to purple; and just about here Gian-Luca first saw the little wild New Forest ponies. + 

Brothers of the Road were passing him now, a tattered and feckless army; aye, and Sisters of the Road, looking even more tattered⁠—one sallow-faced Sister held an infant to her breast, suckling it as she walked. Some of the Brethren pushed improvised handcarts⁠—sugar-boxes lashed to old perambulator wheels⁠—and these vehicles contained a variety of oddments, from babies to worn boots and rusty tin cans; while in one lay a bundle of decomposing rags upon which sat a blear-eyed puppy. Here and there a Brother, more fearless than his mates, had kindled a fire by the roadside. + 

“He will surely get into trouble,” thought Gian-Luca, remembering the warning of his tramp. + 

But such fires smelt pleasantly of dry leaves and pine wood, and their soft, smoky glow was alluring, so Gian-Luca must toss one old sinner a shilling, feeling like an outlaw himself. + 

Cadnam! The name of an unimportant village, having neither interest nor beauty, yet for those who pass through it in search of dreams the name of a deeply-enchanted gateway, for just beyond lies the softly-breathing forest⁠—still dreaming after eight hundred years. + 

Gian-Luca went through that enchanted gateway, and even as he did so, it seemed to close behind him, and he looked at the forest, and the forest looked back out of drowsy, thoughtful green eyes. The road still led forward so Gian-Luca still followed, curbing his eagerness, tasting anticipation like a lover on the eve of ultimate fulfilment. But when he had passed the little town of Lyndhurst the greenness clamored more loudly; he could hear that clamor in the beating of his heart, in the strong, anxious beating of his pulses. The damp, pure smell of the earth in spring travail⁠—the moss smell, the leaf smell⁠—laid hold on his senses; while those drowsy, thoughtful green eyes of the forest followed him down the high road. + 

Then suddenly Gian-Luca could resist it no longer, and he turned and plunged into the forest, stumbling against the trees in his haste to thrust farther and farther inward. Now he had left the road far behind him and had come to a wide green glade. The glade was full of the singing of birds, the grass was dappled with sunshine and flowers⁠—clumps of anemones. He sat down under a gracious beech tree, pressing his cheek against its smooth bark; he was tired, and he suddenly felt rather drowsy, sitting there under the beech tree. He stretched his long legs with a sigh of contentment, then his head nodded forward on his breast⁠—that night Gian-Luca slept out in the forest. + 

And that was the end of the fourth day. + 