was kept by storms and head winds for three long days, and the divil of
a jolly companion or pretty face to comfort me. Well, as I was saying,
my grandfather was on his way to England, or rather to Ostend--no
matter which, it's all the same. So one evening, towards nightfall, he
rode jollily into Bruges. Very like you all know Bruges, gentlemen, a
queer, old-fashioned Flemish town, once they say a great place for
trade and money-making, in old times, when the Mynheers were in their
glory; but almost as large and as empty as an Irishman's pocket at the
present day.

Well, gentlemen, it was the time of the annual fair. All Bruges was
crowded; and the canals swarmed with Dutch boats, and the streets
swarmed with Dutch merchants; and there was hardly any getting along
for goods, wares, and merchandises, and peasants in big breeches, and
women in half a score of petticoats.

My grandfather rode jollily along in his easy, slashing way, for he was
a saucy, sunshiny fellow--staring about him at the motley crowd, and
the old houses with gable ends to the street and storks' nests on the
chimneys; winking at the ya vrouws who showed their faces at the
windows, and joking the women right and left in the street; all of whom
laughed and took it in amazing good part; for though he did not know a
word of their language, yet he always had a knack of making himself
understood among the women.

Well, gentlemen, it being the time of the annual fair, all the town was
crowded; every inn and tavern full, and my grandfather applied in vain
from one to the other for admittance. At length he rode up to an old
rackety inn that looked ready to fall to pieces, and which all the rats
would have run away from, if they could have found room in any other