followed where he led.

Nothing that was ever called an inn, had so much the shew of
wretchedness; nor could it be expected otherwise, for being far from
any great road, it was frequented only by shepherds, and others the
meanest sort of peasants, who worked in the adjacent grounds, or
tended the cattle.

In this miserable place was Natura obliged to take up his lodging:--he
lay down, indeed, on the ragged dirty mattress, but durst not take off
his cloaths, so noisome was every thing about him:--fatigued as he
was, he could not close his eyes till towards day, but had not slept
above two hours before the peasant who had served him as a guide, and
had also stayed at the inn, came into his room, and waked him
abruptly, telling him the lady abbess desired to speak with
him.--Natura was much vexed at this disturbance, and not sufficiently
awaked to recollect himself, only cried peevishly, 'What have I to do
with abbesses,' and then turned to sleep again.

On his second waking, his footman acquainted him, that a priest waited
to see him:--Natura then remembered what the peasant had said, but
could not conceive what business these holy people had with him; he
went down however immediately, and was saluted by a reverend
gentleman, who told him, that the lady abbess of a neighbouring
monastery (whose almoner he was) hearing from one of her shepherds the
distress he had been in, had sent to intreat he would come, and
refresh himself with what her convent afforded.

Natura was now ashamed of having been so rough with the peasant, but
well atoned for it by the handsome apology he now made; after which he