They pointed to two cottage window lights. We went towards them, at
last realizing our proximity by stumbling into a dung-heap and knocking
against a pig-stye. There was a narrow stairway, and above it a big
landing. A man followed and knocked at a door for us.
The mayor appeared--a little man--square in face, hair, beard and
figure.
We explained ourselves and showed our letter. He looked grave at our
demand for horses; said we would talk it over on the morrow, and
sympathized about the swampy field.
"Would you like to sleep here on the floor?" he said, showing us a
clean-looking office. "We regret we have no beds."
We were delighted. His wife, who had gone to bed, appeared in a striped
petticoat and a second one worn as a shawl.
"The tables shall be moved and the stove lit," she said. "It will be
ready in a few minutes."
We picked our way back to the fire, avoiding the dung-heap and pig-stye,
whereby we nearly fell into a cesspool. Cocoa was brewing, one
card-house had been erected as a shelter for some of our things.
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