during one of these Easter walks, when seeking for a resting-place for
the night, that we met with another adventure worth telling.

We had got to that best part of Surrey not yet colonized by wealthy men
from the City, but where all things are as they were of old, when, late
in the day, we came to a pleasant straggling village with one street a
mile long. Here we resolved to stay, and walked the length of the street
making inquiries, but were told by every person we spoke to that the
only place we could stay at was the inn--the "White Hart." When we said
we preferred to stay at a cottage they smiled a pitying smile. No, there
was no such place. But we were determined not to go to the inn, although
it had a very inviting look, and was well placed with no other house
near it, looking on the wide village green with ancient trees shading
the road on either side.

Having passed it and got to the end of the village, we turned and walked
back, still making vain inquiries, passing it again, and when once more
at the starting-point we were in despair when we spied a man coming
along the middle of the road and went out to meet him to ask the weary
question for the last time. His appearance was rather odd as he came
towards us on that blowy March evening with dust and straws flying past
and the level sun shining full on him. He was tall and slim, with a
large round smooth face and big pale-blue innocent-looking eyes, and he
walked rapidly but in a peculiar jerky yet shambling manner, swinging
and tossing his legs and arms about. Moving along in this disjointed
manner in his loose fluttering clothes he put one in mind of a
big flimsy newspaper blown along the road by the wind. This
unpromising-looking person at once told us that there was a place where
we could stay; he knew it well, for it happened to be his father's
house and his own home. It was away at the other end of the village. His
people had given accommodation to strangers before, and would be glad to
receive us and make us comfortable.

Surprised, and a little doubtful of our good fortune, I asked my young
man if he could explain the fact that so many of his neighbours had
assured us that no accommodation was to be had in the village except at
the inn. He did not make a direct reply. He said that the ways of
the villagers were not the ways of his people. He and all his house
cherished only kind feelings towards their neighbours; whether those
feelings were returned or