In the middle of the day I stopped at Vernon, and the afternoon was

well advanced when I came in sight of a little way-side house with a

broad unfenced green in front of it, and a swinging sign which told

the traveller that this was the "Holly Sprig Inn."

I dismounted on the opposite side of the road and gazed upon the

smoothly shaven greensward in front of the little inn; upon the pretty

upper windows peeping out from their frames of leaves; upon the

queerly-shaped projections of the building; upon the low portico which

shaded the doorway; and upon the gentle stream of blue smoke which

rose from the great gray chimney.

Then I turned and looked over the surrounding country. There were

broad meadows slightly descending to a long line of trees, between

which I could see the glimmering of water. On the other side of the

road, and extending back of the inn, there were low, forest-crowned

hills. Then my eyes, returning to nearer objects, fell upon an

old-fashioned garden, with bright flowers and rows of box, which lay

beyond the house.

"Why on earth," I thought, "should I pass such a place as this and go

on to the Cheltenham, with its waiters in coat tails, its nurse-maids,

and its rows of people on piazzas? She could not know my tastes, and

perhaps she had thought but little on the subject, and had taken her

ideas from her father. He is just the man to be contented with nothing

else than a vast sprawling hotel, with disdainful menials expecting

tips."

I rolled my bicycle along the little path which ran around the green,

and knocked upon the open door of Holly Sprig Inn.

In a few moments a boy came into the hall. He was not dressed like an

ordinary hotel attendant, but his appearance was decent, and he might

have been a sub-clerk or a head hall-boy.

"Can I obtain lodging here for the night?" I asked.

The boy looked at me from head to foot, and an expression such as

might be produced by too much lemon juice came upon his face.

"No," said he; "we don't take cyclers."

This reception was something novel to me, who had cycled over

thousands of miles, and I was not at all inclined to accept it at the

hands of the boy. I stepped into the hall. "Can I see the master of

this house?" said I.

"There ain't none," he answered, gruffly.

"Well, then, I want to see whoever is in charge."

He looked as if he were about to say that he was in charge, but he had

no opportunity for such impertinence. A female figure came into the

hall and advanced towards me. She stopped in an attitude of

interrogation.




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