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Indeed； if he had been distracted in the first instance by
questionings and orders； it would have taken him at the least a
fortnight to have noted what is here set down； but it happened
that the gentleman； being struck with the old house； or with the
plump pigeons which were skimming and curtseying about it； or
with the tall maypole； on the top of which a weathercock； which
had been out of order for fifteen years； performed a perpetual
walk to the music of its own creaking； sat for some little time
looking round in silence。 Hence John； standing with his hand
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upon the horse’s bridle； and his great eyes on the rider； and with
nothing passing to divert his thoughts； had really got some of these
little circumstances into his brain by the time he was called upon
to speak。
‘A quaint place this；’ said the gentleman—and his voice was as
rich as his dress。 ‘Are you the landlord？’
‘At your service； sir；’ replied John Willet。
‘You can give my horse good stabling； can you； and me an early
dinner （I am not particular what； so that it be cleanly served）； and
a decent room of which there seems to be no lack in this great
mansion；’ said the stranger； again running his eyes over the
exterior。
‘You can have； sir；’ returned John with a readiness quite
surprising； ‘anything you please。’
‘It’s well I am easily satisfied；’ returned the other with a smile；
‘or that might prove a hardy pledge； my friend。’ And saying so； he
dismounted； with the aid of the block before the door； in a
twinkling。
‘Halloa there！ Hugh！’ roared John。 ‘I ask your pardon； sir； for
keeping you standing in the porch； but my son has gone to town
on business； and the boy being； as I may say； of a kind of use to
me； I’m rather put out when he’s away。 Hugh！—a dreadful idle
vagrant fellow； sir； half a gipsy； as I think—always sleeping in the
sun in summer； and in the straw in winter time； sir—Hugh！ Dear
Lord； to keep a gentleman a waiting here through him！—Hugh！ I
wish that chap was dead； I do indeed。’
‘Possibly he is；’ returned the other。 ‘I should think if he were
living； he would have heard you by this time。’
‘In his fits of laziness； he sleeps so desperate hard；’ said the
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distracted host； ‘that if you were to fire off cannon…balls into his
ears； it wouldn’t wake him； sir。’
The guest made no remark upon this novel cure for drowsiness；
and recipe for making people lively； but； with his hands clasped
behind him； stood in the porch； very much amused to see old
John； with the bridle in his hand； wavering between a strong
impulse to abandon the animal to his fate； and a half disposition to
lead him into the house； and shut him up in the parlour； while he
waited on his master。
‘Pillory the fellow； here he is at last！’ cried John； in the very
height and zenith of his distress。 ‘Did you hear me a calling；
villain？’
The figure he addressed made no answer； but putting his hand
upon the saddle； sprung into it at a bound； turned the horse’s head
towards the stable； and was gone in an instant。
‘Brisk enough when he is awake；’ said the guest。
‘Brisk enough； sir！’ replied John； looking at the place where the
horse had been； as if not yet understanding quite； what had
become of him。 ‘He melts； I think。 He goes like a drop of froth。 You
look at him； and there he is。 You look at him again； and—there he
isn’t。’
Having； in the absence of any more words； put this sudden
climax to what he had faintly intended should be a long
explanation of the whole life and character of his man； the
oracular John Willet led the gentleman up his wide dismantled
staircase into the Maypole’s best apartment。
It was spacious enough in all conscience； occupying the whole
depth of the house； and having at either end a great bay window；
as large as many modern rooms； in which some few panes of
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stained glass； emblazoned with fragments of armorial bearings；
though cracked； and patched； and shattered； yet remained；
attesting； by their presence； that the former owner had made the
very light subservient to his state； and pressed the sun itself into
his list of flatterers； bidding it； when it shone into his chamber；
reflect the badges of his ancient family； and take new hues and
colours from their pride。
But those were old days； and now every little ray came and
went as it would； telling the plain； bare； searching truth。 Although
the best room of the inn； it had the melancholy aspect of grandeur
in decay； and was much too vast for comfort。 Rich rustling
hangings； waving on the walls； and； better far； the rustling of
youth and beauty’s dress； the light of women’s eyes； outshining the
tapers and their own rich jewels； the sound of gentle tongues； and
music； and the tread of maiden feet； had once been there； and
filled it with delight。 But they were gone； and with them all its
gladness。 It was no longer a home； children were never born and
bred there； the fireside had become mercenary—a something to
be bought and sold—a very courtezan： let who would die； or sit
beside； or leave it； it was still the same—it missed nobody； cared
for nobody； had equal warmth and smiles for all。 God help the
man whose heart ever changes with the world； as an old mansion
when it becomes an inn！
No effort had been made to furnish thi