Ferrand: "This
must be something like what he described to me, tramping on and on when
you're dead-beat, until you can cadge up supper and a bed." And sulkily
he kept on ploughing through the mud with glances at the exasperating
Crocker, who had skinned one heel and was limping horribly. It suddenly
came home to him that life for three quarters of the world meant
physical exhaustion every day, without a possibility of alternative,
and that as soon as, for some cause beyond control, they failed thus to
exhaust themselves, they were reduced to beg or starve. "And then we,
who don't know the meaning of the word exhaustion, call them 'idle
scamps,'" he said aloud.

It was past nine and dark when they reached Dowdenhame. The street
yielded no accommodation, and while debating where to go they passed the
church, with a square tower, and next to it a house which was certainly
the parsonage.

"Suppose," said Crocker, leaning on his arms upon the gate, "we ask him
where to go"; and, without waiting for Shelton's answer, he rang the
bell.

The door was opened by the parson, a bloodless and clean-shaven man,
whose hollow cheeks and bony hands suggested a perpetual struggle.
Ascetically benevolent were his grey eyes; a pale and ghostly smile
played on the curves of his thin lips.

"What can I do for you?" he asked. "Inn? yes, there's the Blue Chequers,
but I 'm afraid you 'll find it shut. They 're early people, I 'm glad
to say"; and his eyes seemed to muse over the proper fold for these damp
sheep. "Are you Oxford men, by any chance?" he asked, as if that might
throw some light upon the matter. "Of Mary's? Really! I'm of Paul's
myself. Ladyman--Billington Ladyman; you might remember my youngest
brother. I could give you a room here if you could manage without
sheets. My housekeeper has two days' holiday; she's foolishly taken the
keys."

Shelton accepted gladly, feeling that the intonation in the parson's
voice was necessary unto his calling, and that he did not want to
patronise.

"You 're hungry, I expect, after your tramp. I'm very much afraid there
's--er--nothing in the house but bread; I could boil you water; hot
lemonade is better than nothing."

Conducting them into the kitchen, he made a fire, and put a kettle on to
boil; then, after leaving them to shed their soaking clothes, returned
with ancient, greenish coats, some carpet slippers, and some blankets.
Wrapped in these, and carrying their glasses, the trave