Suddenly he frowned. “I call it disgraceful,” he said, raising his voice. “Disgraceful that an able-bodied man like you should dare to beg. You can get a meal from my kitchen, but you’ll get no money from me.”
A dog-cart was passing, driven by a young man who raised his whip to salute the fisherman. When he had gone, he picked up his rod.
“ That’s my house,” he said, pointing to a white gate a hundred yards on. “Wait five minutes and then go round to the back door.” And with that he left me.
I did as I was bidden. I found a pretty cottage with a lawn running down to the stream, and a perfect jungle of guelder-rose and lilac flanking the path. The back door stood open, and a grave butler was awaiting me.
“ Come this way, sir,” he said, and he led me along a passage and up a back stair
