But they didn't want us there. We beheld a dirty low-ceiled room filled with filthy people and a smell of wet unwashed clothes.
The owner and his wife received us roughly. "We have no room, we have nothing," they said.
We stood our ground. "We must have a roof to-night."
Outside the road had become a river, our men were nearly dropping with fatigue.
"You can't come here," said the innkeeper, looking at us with great distrust.
The major, whom Jo had "bothered," came in. "You must take these people," he said, and asked various searching questions about the rooms.
Reluctantly the truth came out that if the whole family slept in one room there would be one for us. The major ordered them to do it. Jo wished she hadn't "bothered" him quite so gruffly.
The daughters stamped about, furiously pulling all the blankets off the two beds, while one of them stood in the doorway watching us to see that we did not secrete the greasy counterpanes. Several of the party sat, hair on end, with staring eyes, too tired to shut them.
"Food?"
"Nema Nishta," was the response.