CHAPTER II

ROYAL OAK


The war had killed the little market of the town. As he passed the
market place on the brow, Aaron noticed that there were only two
miserable stalls. But people crowded just the same. There was a loud
sound of voices, men's voices. Men pressed round the doorways of the
public-houses.

But he was going to a pub out of town. He descended the dark hill.
A street-lamp here and there shed parsimonious light. In the bottoms,
under the trees, it was very dark. But a lamp glimmered in front of
the "Royal Oak." This was a low white house sunk three steps below
the highway. It was darkened, but sounded crowded.

Opening the door, Sisson found himself in the stone passage. Old Bob,
carrying three cans, stopped to see who had entered--then went on into
the public bar on the left. The bar itself was a sort of little
window-sill on the right: the pub was a small one. In this window-
opening stood the landlady, drawing and serving to her husband. Behind
the bar was a tiny parlour or den, the landlady's preserve.

"Oh, it's you," she said, bobbing down to look at the newcomer. None
entered her bar-parlour unless invited.

"Come in," said the landlady. There was a peculiar intonation in her
complacent voice, which showed she had been expecting him, a little