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