Richard's life had been one of activity. Whether fighting or administrating or farming, his simple and practical nature had found its natural outlet in work. Speculations on religion or forms of government had little attraction for him; there was always some work to be done, and that he found more congenial than meditation. Now, his occupations were gone, his career wrecked, the only subject for his thoughts was how to preserve his own wretched life, a matter which soon grew to him one of complete indifference. His relations painted to him in glowing colours the future that still opened to him in the New England plantations where their friend Parson Perrient was sure to offer him a warm welcome, and to satisfy their wishes, he made his way eastward, hoping to find a ship bound for Holland at King's Lynn, and so to take passage for the New World from Rotterdam. But the new life in the West that had once seemed so attractive, the day dreams that had woven themselves about the log cabin in a forest clearing, faded almost before he began to desire them. He was too heart-sick to hope, too weary to devise new ambitions, or even to recall the old ones that had kept him company from his youth. In the dusk of a winter evening, Richard Harrison's tired feet turned to the door of a shabby little inn on the outskirts of Northampton. He had grown skilful in picking resting-places where he was likely to meet none but creatures as wretched as himself, wanderers and beggars too much taken up with their own misery to waste curiosity on the history of others. Wet and weary, the fire was grateful to him, though the room it lit up was as dirty and mean as could well be. But the rickety settle at least kept the wind from the tired traveller, and the bulging rafters supported a roof that kept the rain out. Richard crouched over the hearth, drying his wet clothes and awaiting without much expectation of satisfaction the supper the slatternly hostess promised, when a heavy step without, and a violent rattle of the door-latch, told that another wayfarer was coming to share his wretched lair. A tall burly fellow swaggered into the room, and flung into the elbow chair with a weight that made it creak. "Que tiempo maldito!" he growled, shaking the wet from his hat brim. "Hullo, good mother, food and drink as quick as may be, most especially drink, and none of your small beer for me," he shouted, jingling a few coppers in his hand with the air of an alderman ordering turtle and venison. "Pray Heaven my neighbour speedily drink himself drunk," thought Dick, withdrawing himself further into the chimney-corner. The stranger shivered, coughed, grumbled out a few more oaths in bad Spanish, and hitching his chair nearer to the fire he lifted the tankard the woman of the house brought to him, and nodded over at Richard. "Here's to thy health, friend, and our better acquaintance!"