An autumn and a winter had passed away, when the course of his
perlustations brought him one evening into a beautiful sylvan valley,
where he found a number of young women weaving garlands of flowers,
and singing over their pleasant occupation. He approached them,
and courteously inquired the way to the nearest town.
"There is no town within several miles," was the answer.
"A village, then, if it be but large enough to furnish an inn?"
"There is Gamwell just by, but there is no inn nearer than the nearest town."
"An abbey, then?"
"There is no abbey nearer than the nearest inn."
"A house then, or a cottage, where I may obtain hospitality for the night?"
"Hospitality!" said one of the young women; "you have not far to seek
for that. Do you not know that you are in the neighbourhood of Gamwell-Hall?"
"So far from it," said the knight, "that I never heard the name
of Gamwell-Hall before."
"Never heard of Gamwell-Hall?" exclaimed all the young women together,
who could as soon have dreamed of his never having heard of the sky.
"Indeed, no," said Sir Ralph; "but I shall be very happy to get
rid of my ignorance."
"And so shall I," said his squire; "for it seems that in this
case knowledge will for once be a cure for hunger, wherewith I
am grievously afflicted."
"And why are you so busy, my pretty damsels, weaving these garlands?"
said the knight.
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