The old man greeted us kindly in the parlour, and said: “Well, guests, so you have been looking about to search into the nakedness of the land: I suppose your illusions of last night have given way a bit before the morning light? Do you still like, it, eh?”
“Very much,” said I, doggedly; “it is one of the prettiest places on the lower Thames.”
“Oho!” said he; “so you know the Thames, do you?”
I reddened, for I saw Dick and Clara looking at me, and scarcely knew what to say. However, since I had said in our early intercourse with my Hammersmith friends that I had known Epping Forest, I thought a hasty generalisation might be better in avoiding complications than a downright lie; so I said—
“I have been in this country before; and I have been on the Thames in those days.”
“O,” said the old man, eagerly, “so you have been in this country before. Now really, don’t you find it (apart from all theory, you know) much changed for the worse?”
“No, not at all,” said I; “I find it much changed for the better.”
“Ah,” quoth he, “I fear that you have been prejudiced by some theory or another. However, of course the time when you were here before must have been so near our own days that the deterioration might not be very great: as then we were, of course, still living under the same customs as we are now. I was thinking of earlier days than that.”
“In short,” said Clara, “you have theories about the change which has taken place.”
“I have facts as well,” said he. “Look here! from this hill you can see just four little houses, including this one. Well, I know for certain that in old times, even in the summer, when the leaves were thickest, you could see from the same place six quite big and fine houses; and higher up the water, garden joined garden right up to Windsor; and there were big houses in all the gardens. Ah! England was an important place in those days.”