Furnished with full instructions, several times repeated, as to
the various turnings I was to take, I set forth, and walked on till the
evening with only one stoppage for bread and cheese. Just as it was
getting toward dark, the rain came on and the wind began to rise; and I
found myself, to make matters worse, in a part of the country with which I
was entirely unacquainted, though I guessed myself to be some fifteen
miles from home. The first house I found to inquire at, was a lonely
roadside inn, standing on the outskirts of a thick wood. Solitary as the
place looked, it was welcome to a lost man who was also hungry, thirsty,
footsore, and wet. The landlord was civil and respectable-looking; and the
price he asked for a bed was reasonable enough. I was grieved to
disappoint my mother. But there was no conveyance to be had, and I could
go no farther afoot that night. My weariness fairly forced me to stop at
the inn.
I may say for myself that I am a temperate man. My supper simply consisted
of some rashers of bacon, a slice of home-made bread, and a pint of ale. I
did not go to bed immediately after this moderate meal, but sat up with
the landlord, talking about my bad prospects and my long run of ill-luck,
and diverging from these topics to the subjects of horse-flesh and racing.
Nothing was said, either by myself, my host, or the few laborers who
strayed into the tap-room, which could, in the slightest degree, excite
my mind, or set my fancy--which is only a small fancy at the best of
times--playing tricks with my common sense.
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