“Why, that seems reasonable,” said I.

“It are,” nodded the man, “and a fine feather bed too!  But then, Lord, one good turn deserves another—­”

“Meaning?”

“This ’ere bolt.”

“Are you the landlord, then?”

“I be; and if you feel inclined for a mug o’ good ale say the word.”

“Most willingly,” said I, “but what of the axle?”

“Plenty o’ time for th’ axle,” nodded the landlord, and setting down his hammer upon a bench hard by, he led the way into the tap.  The ale was very strong and good; indeed this lovely county of Kent is justly famous for such.  Finding myself very hungry, the landlord forthwith produced a mighty round of beef, upon which we both fell to, and ate with a will.  Which done, I pulled out my negro-head pipe, and the landlord fetching himself another, we sat awhile smoking.  And presently, learning I was from London, he began plying me with all manner of questions concerning the great city, of which it seemed he could not hear enough, and I, to describe its wonders as well as I might.  At length, bethinking him of his axle, he rose with a sigh.  Upon my requesting to be shown my room, he lighted a candle, and led the way up a somewhat rickety stair, along a narrow passage, and throwing open a door at the end, I found myself in a fair-sized chamber with a decent white bed, which he introduced to my notice by the one word, feathers.”  Hereupon he pinched off the snuff of the candle with an expression of ponderous thought.

“And so the Tower o’ London ain’t a tower?” he inquired at last.

“No,” I answered; “it is composed of several towers surrounded by very strong, battlemented walls.”

“Ah—­to—­be—­sure,” said he, “ah, to be sure!  And me ’ave allus thought on it like it was a great big tower standin’ in the midst o’ the city, as ’igh as a mountain.  Humph—­not a tower—­ha! disapp’inted I be.  Humph!  Good night, master.  Disapp’inted I be—­yes.”  And having nodded his head ponderously several times, he turned and went ponderously along the passage and down the stair.

At the end of my chamber was a long, low casement, and, drawn thither by the beauty of the night, I flung open the lattice and leaned out.  I looked down upon a narrow, deeply-rutted lane, one of those winding, inconsequent byways which it seems out of all possibility can ever lead the traveler anywhere, and I was idly wondering what fool had troubled to build a tavern in such a remote, out-of-the-way spot, when my ears were saluted by the sound of voices.  Now, immediately beneath my window there was a heavy porch, low and squat, from which jutted a beam with a broken sign-board, and it was from beneath this porch that the voices proceeded, the one loud and hectoring, the other gruff and sullen.  I was about to turn away when a man stepped out into the moonlight.  His face was hidden in the shadow of his hat-brim, but from his general air and appearance I judged him to be one of the gentlemen whose chaise had broken down.  As I watched him he walked slowly round the angle of the house and disappeared.  In a little while, I drew in my head from the casement, and, having removed my dusty boots, together with my knapsack and coat, blew out the candle, and composed myself to sleep.