A DESULTORY PILGRIMAGE 31 



grew higher as the days passed. Courteous 

 hospitality, or, if hospitality had to be with 

 held, courteous regret, was the rule. Twice, 

 when one house could not take us in, they 

 telephoned for the telephone is everywhere 

 now about the neighborhood among friends 

 until they found a lodging for us. And pleas 

 ant lodgings they always proved. 



One exception there was. We drew up one 

 afternoon by a well-kept little house with a 

 good English name on the post-box, and, as 

 usual, I held the reins while Jonathan went 

 up to the side door to make inquiries. After 

 he had started up the path I saw, from my 

 vantage-point, the lady of the farm returning 

 from her &quot;garden patch,&quot; and my heart went 

 out in pity to Jonathan. If I could have called 

 him back I would have done so, merely on the 

 testimony of the lady s gait and figure. I had 

 never fully realized how expressive these 

 could be. Her hips, her shoulders, the set of 

 her head, the way she planted her feet on 

 the uneven flagging-stones of the path, each 

 heavy line and each sodden motion, bespoke 

 inhospitality, intolerance, impenetrable dis 

 approval of everything unfamiliar. I watched 



