I passed Tom, the local shoe cobbler, as he was heading toward the train station I had just left. He recognized me and stopped to chat. “Why hello, Mr. Holmes,” he cheerfully, “ I was just heading to the station to complain about a shipment that was not dropped off rightly, and is sitting at the station two stops down I am told.” “Quite an unfortunate event,” I remarked, thinking to myself the truly mundane circumstances and concerns of the majority of our English countrymen. “usually they are so accurate in their deliveries.” “Well, no harm, just bother,” Tom responded. “Say, I understand you have quite a hearty singing voice when you were encouraged to join in song with the merriment last Boxing Day at the Horse and Crown. We are always looking for new voices for our Sunday service Choir. Could I persuade you to join us this Sunday? We are singing old classic hymns so there be no need to practice with us Friday eve.” “I will beg off, Tom,” I excused myself, “I am not much of a church-goer, you know.” “Well, no harm, no bother,” Tom rephrased his prior comment. “I invite you to attend services, even if you won’t join in our choir. The Lord’s house is for everyone, you know. Well, I’ll be continuin’ on, must see to my leathers.” He was a fine example of good British stock. But his mental acumen was barely sufficient to observer his surrounding, let alone contemplate the meaning behind it all. As I kicked up road dust on my continued journey, I thought about the beauty of nature all around me. The intricacies of creation, the weaving of multitude of interdependent life could overwhelm a thinking individual. Awe and recognition of insignificancy only tinges the vast wonder one feels for the time and seasons of nature and of man. I was quite content with my place in the vast meaning of existence, I know who I am, even if I do not know ultimately where I will be going. I will manage that when I am confronted with my reckoning. I came upon my house eventually, tired from my walk, but a good tired. Mrs. Nesbit welcomed me back with a quick lunch and cool ale to quench my thirst. I had come to enjoy fixing my own breakfasts. I disciplined myself to get up early, as opposed to when I was busy running around London late at night tracking some aberrant foe or running down a slack clue. When I first retired to this quaint spot, I allowed myself the luxury of sleeping in late. But I soon tired of becoming a late morning bum with a chin full of whiskers still sprouting by noon. I found I liked the morning sunrise, and clean cool air brought in by the sea, before the hot afternoon caused a slumber to overtake me in the simmering heat. But I then, throwing myself into some morning activity, usually got forgetful about lunch, being tied up with my bees or researching some obscure but riveting item I had deemed necessary to investigate. Mrs. Nesbit always came by lunchtime to insure I had a solid meal, and stayed to fix a hearty supper. She was frequently able to interrupt me for my lunches, but dinners sometimes grew cold as I could not be bothered to break. She always reminded me of my dinner being kept warm in the kitchen as she left for the night. I once again settled into my satisfactory simple daily routine. I had disciplined myself not to stress over that which was out of my control, but I could not forget what others were pursuing. Nothing at all was reported to me by Mycroft over the next several months, except an infrequent recurring note to inform me of the absence of new significant developments. I was occasionally corresponded to by my Continental contacts, but I did not instigate any inquiry on the subject of the M Agency or particulars I was concerned with. I hesitated to involve others who might interfere with Mycroft’s agents or inadvertently alarm the M Agents. I involved my self with my study of the Queen Bee and made significant progress in supporting the study I would shortly publish in a monograph I had planned. Watson was consumed with his lovely bride and his busy practice, so I saw nothing of him since my overnight stay. I do not much require human companionship, and do little to seek it out. I do not avoid it, it is just something I do not crave or need. I have few visitors and content myself with my self-absorbing work and studies. It was then some extraordinary occasion when I was visited by no less personage than Wilhelm Gottsreich Sigismond von Ormstein, Grand Duke of Cassel-Felstein, and hereditary King of Bohemia who I had so beneficially served so many years ago. I did not at first recognize him, for he was incognito and left his ostentatious outfits at his castle. He knocked on my door one late night near sunset. I did not recognize him dressed as a simple commoner as I, and it had been many years since he employed me in that delicate matter concerning Irene Norton.