Assisted by two of his cronies, the farmer walked into the inn, the rest of the crowd hanging about and casting sheepish glances of admiration at Armstrong.
"You'll come in and take a drop of summat, sir?" inquired the landlord.
"No, thanks," replied Armstrong. "You might have a look at that fellow, will you?"
"And can you give us beds to-night?" asked Warrender.
"Ay sure, the missus will see to that."
"Very well; we'll just go on to the village and get a thing or two, and come back before closing time. You'll give an eye to our boat?"
The innkeeper having promised to set the ferryman in charge of the boat, the three struck into the road.
CHAPTER III
PRATTLE
The one street of the village contained only two shops. One of these, the forepart of a simple cottage, was post office and general store, whose window displayed groceries, sweetstuffs, stockings, reels of cotton, and other articles of a miscellaneous stock. A few yards beyond it stood a larger, newer, and uglier building, the lower storey of which was a double-fronted shop, exhibiting on the one side a heterogeneous heap of old iron, on the other a few agricultural implements, a ramshackle bicycle, a mangle, tin tea-pots, a can of petrol, a concertina, and various oddments. Above the door, in crude letters painted yellow, ran the description: "Samuel Blevins, General Dealer."