“It goes against the grain for me to do so,” said the host of the “Carved Lion,” “but there’s no help for it as I can see.”
“Have you far to go, sir?” inquired the farmer of the stranger.
“Well, that depends upon what luck I have,” answered he, with a winning smile. “I’ve a good horse, and don’t much care about a soaking, and must take my chance, I suppose.”
“Dall it all, but it seems cruel, Brickett,” cried Ashbrook, rubbing his head in a puzzled manner. “Look at the night.”
“It seems like cruelty, I admit.”
“I tell ’ee what ’ee can do—I can give you accommodation for one night, at all events.”
“I am sure you are extremely kind, sir, and I hardly know how to sufficiently thank you for the offer, but I should not like to intrude upon a stranger.”
“Oh, ye be quite welcome, for the matter of that,” said the good-natured Ashbrook. “I expect you are a stranger to these parts.”
“Yes, quite a stranger. I am from London.”
“Aye, well you mustn’t go back with a bad account of the hospitality of the pipple of Broxbridge—must he, Brickett?”