“Can you put me up for the night?” I asked.

“Yes,” he replied cheerfully.  “Come round by the side of the house, otherwise the dogs may get in your way.”

But when the rich man saw me on his threshold a cloud passed over his eyes and the welcome faded from his face.  For I was dressed simply as a tramp and had feet so tired that I had not troubled to take the signs of travel from my garments.  I had a great sack on my back, and in my hand a long staff.

The head of the house, a portly old gentleman with a long beard, interrogated me; his son, a limp smiling officer in white duck, peered over his shoulder; two or three others of the establishment looked on from various distances.

“What do you want?” asked the old gentleman curtly, as if he had not heard already.

“A lodging for the night,” I said unhappily.

“You won’t find lodging here,” said the greybeard in a false stentorian voice.  And the little officer in white giggled.

“You’ve made a mistake and come to the wrong house.  We have no room.”

“A barn or outhouse would serve me nicely,” I put in.

The old man waved his hand.

“No, no.  You are going southward?  You have strayed somewhat out of your path coming up here.  There is a short cut to the main road.  There you’ll find a tavern.”

It was in my mind to say, “I am an Englishman, a traveller and writer, and I am on a pilgrimage to Jerusalem.  You misdoubt my appearance, and are afraid of sheltering an unknown wanderer, but I am one whom you would find it interesting and perhaps even profitable to harbour.”  But my heart and lips were chilled.

I had taken off my pack, but put it on again humbly and, somewhat abashed, prepared to leave.  The family stood by staring.  It was a very unusual thing for a poor tramp to come and ask hospitality.  Tramps as a rule knew better than to come to their doors.  Indeed, no tramp had ever come there before.  It rather touched them that I should have believed they would shelter me.  Their refusal troubled them somewhat.

“There’s always plenty of room in the tavern,” said the rich man to his wife.  “And they’ll be glad to have a customer.”

As I turned to go, some one brought a light, and a gleam fell on my face.  The company expected to see the cringing, long-suffering face of a peasant in the presence of his master, but the light showed something different....

“He is perhaps one of our own class ... or ...  God knows what ...” they thought, one and all.  “It is hateful to have refused him.  But no, if he is one of us, why does he come clothed like a common man?  He has only himself to blame.”

The old man, feeling somewhat ashamed, offered to show me the way.  He came out and pointed out the short cut to the tavern.

“It is quite clear.  I shall find the way,” I said.  “Thank you.”

The old man halted as if he wished to say something more.