I passed a pleasant-looking house before reaching {59} the Robin Hood Inn, and, seeing the front door wide open, I walked up the garden, gay with pansies and polyanthus, and knocked. No reply. I went round to the back-door, which was also wide open. Still no reply. So I came away. Then I tried a farm-house. The woman who answered my knock told me she was housekeeper to two old bachelors, one of whom was ill, so she could not help me. Lastly I came to the Robin Hood Inn. An uncompromising notice hung in the front window: "CLOSED;" and a motor-car stood outside the door. However, I knocked, and a girl of about fourteen, very neatly dressed, answered my knock. She told me that their family was so large that they never had a bed to spare; that her sister was ill (it was the doctor's car outside), and they could not possibly take me in. I asked for lemonade or aerated water. No; they had nothing at all. "Well, a glass of plain water?" Yes, I could have that, and welcome. When she returned with it, I inquired how far it was to the next inn. She could only tell me of Matfen, nearly 3 miles away. I had already walked more than 20 miles, not counting the distance covered in my explorations so in desperation I mentioned the house with the open doors, and said: "Do you think the lady of that house would give me a bed?" She brightened up, and answered: "Why, perhaps she would; she's very nice. I'll ask her; she is upstairs helping {60} with my sister." So she came down, and she _was_ very nice. She was, indeed, a good Samaritan, for I hardly felt I could walk much farther. She gave me the kindest welcome, and her husband did the same when he came home and found me enjoying a good supper with his wife. Never did a guest-chamber seem more attractive than hers to me that night. Remember, I had spent the previous night in the train, travelling from London; I had started on my walk at five o'clock that morning, and the walk for a great part of the day had been on an unsheltered high road, and in a temperature of 81° in the shade. {61} CHAPTER VII HUNNUM AND ST. OSWALD'S Next morning I took leave of my kind hostess, and set out again, prepared to take things easily that day. The Wall-ditch was very deep and clearly marked on my right, planted with trees (chiefly young larch), and carpeted with flowers--primroses, herb bennet, and the purple giant cranesbill. The Vallum also was conspicuous on the other side of the road. In the garden of the next house, "Wall Houses," apple-blossom, purple and white lilac, and laburnum were all in full beauty, though they had been quite over in the south before I left. It was a sweet fresh morning, and a gentle breeze was sending down showers of apple-blossom over an old lady walking in the garden. The next house is called "High Wall Houses," and is all that is left of a village of that name. Everywhere it is Wall--Wall--Wall in the place-names--all along the line.