Oswald's leaving his house in the morning, lost in his own musings about his daily plans such that he forgets to check for all his belongings on the path down from the cottage to the gates. So he's standing in the doorway, half-in and half-out, doing his usual pat-down of his pockets. Was his lighter in his breast pocket? No, no lump there, where did he put the ruddy thing...

Behind Oswald, to anyone looking over his shoulder, there is a beautiful English country garden and a pleasant thatched-roof cottage where the inside of his cabin should be. The pleasant spring breeze occasionally ruffles his hair. It would be unfortunate if someone were to notice.