No (said the station master) there was no hotel in the place. I might get something at some farmhouse, but no dinner anywhere.
And Mr. W—— in Dublin for the day. What good had the tramp's blessing done me?
I left the station and walked toward the village. At last I came to a "public" and there I found my tramp drinking porter with gusto—but nothing else. His hunger had evidently departed. Perhaps the same thing that had put it to flight would allay mine.
But the first incivility that I have received since I came to Ireland was offered me here. The proprietress of the public laughed at me and said that they had nothing but bread in the house—and she evidently did not care to part with that.
"There's a good hotel at Rathdrum, sorr," said the tramp to me. "It's not five miles away an' the road light as a feather, barrin' the mud."
I had no notion of going five miles on the light road on the light breakfast I had eaten—and no certainty that there would be a dinner at Rathdrum, so I left the public, and the rain having stopped and the sunshine having come out with a most businesslike air, as much as to say, "See here, you clouds have been running things altogether too much lately; it's now my turn at the wheel," I set out as blithely as I could (with the thought of my letter of introduction crossing Mr. W—— on his way to town and me a homeless wanderer) and before long I came to a little whitewashed cabin in front of which a handsome old woman in a man's cap was bending over some flowers.
"Good morning. Can you let me have something to eat?"
"Sure 'tis little I have," said she, with a smile that took five years off her age.
"Some fresh eggs, perhaps, or some milk?"