AT THE INN 151 
of the teapot. The ladies always seem to enjoy 
the four o’clock muster. There was a wayside 
inn which used to give us really delicious tea 
after the day’s fishing in the late autumn afternoon, 
before we went back to the hotel. We praised 
it warmly one day. “Yes,” said the landlady, 
“people often say how good it is! It’s the 
quality of the water, though, that does it!” 
Honest, modest people they are, in the country. 
At one fishing inn, a railway line ran between 
lawn and river, and this fact produced an 
interesting daily occurrence, which could be 
watched from an overlooking bedroom window. 
The guard threw a daily paper out from his van, 
and a water spaniel would regularly retrieve it, 
and bring it indoors. Once the paper alighted 
high up ina holly bush, and obstinately stuck 
there! It quite upset the spaniel. He worried 
and worried, but could not tackle the problem. 
After an interval of over three years, I re-visited 
that hotel, and hoped that the good old custom 
still continued. Alas! the old dog had “gone 
west,” and the paper now came by messenger. 
It was a change from poetry to prose. 
We had ascareat one hotel. Long faces greeted 
the announcement that one of the guests, a lady, 
had, it was feared, developed measles. The 
doctor had just been, and he would say, definitely, 
onthe morrow. The hotel was full and everybody 
was miserable. Packing up was contemplated, 
time-tables were studied. A brave attempt was 
made to keep cheery. But measles are measles. 
