It was near the end of a long summer day when we arrived at a small hamlet of about a dozen cottages on the edge of an extensive wood—­a forest it is called; and, coming to it, we said that here we must stay, even if we had to spend the night sitting in a porch.  The men and women we talked to all assured us that they did not know of anyone who could take us in, but there was Mr. Brownjohn, who kept the shop, and was the right person to apply to.  Accordingly we went to the little general shop and heard that Mr. Brownjohn was not at home.  His housekeeper, a fat, dark, voluble woman with prominent black eyes, who minded the shop in the master’s absence, told us that Mr. Brownjohn had gone to a neighbouring farm-house on important business, but was expected back shortly.  We waited, and by and by he returned, a shabbily dressed, weak-looking little old man, with pale blue eyes and thin yellowish white hair.  He could not put us up, he said, he had no room in his cottage; there was nothing for us but to go on to the next place, a village three miles distant, on the chance of finding a bed there.  We assured him that we could go no further, and after revolving the matter a while longer he again said that we could not stay, as there was not a room to be had in the place since poor Mrs. Flowerdew had her trouble.  She had a spare room and used to take in a lodger occasionally, and a good handy woman she was too; but now—­no, Mrs. Flowerdew could not take us in.  We questioned him, and he said that no one had died there and there had been no illness.  They were all quite well at Mrs. Flowerdew’s; the trouble was of another kind.  There was no more to be said about it.

As nothing further could be got out of him we went in search of Mrs. Flowerdew herself, and found her in a pretty vine-clad cottage.  She was a young woman, very poorly dressed, with a pleasing but careworn face, and she had four small, bright, healthy, happy-faced children.  They were all grouped round her as she stood in the doorway to speak to us, and they too were poorly dressed and poorly shod.  When we told our tale she appeared ready to burst into tears.  Oh, how unfortunate it was that she could not take us in!  It would have made her so happy, and the few shillings would have been such a blessing!  But what could she do now—­the landlord’s agent had put in a distress and carried off and sold all her best things.  Every stick out of her nice spare room had been taken from them!  Oh, it was cruel!

As we wished to hear more she told us the whole story.  They had got behindhand with the rent, but that had often been the case, only this time it happened that the agent wanted a cottage for a person he wished to befriend, and so gave them notice to quit.  But her husband was a high-spirited man and determined to stick to his rights, so he informed the agent that he refused to move until he received compensation for his improvements.