Our hunger appeased, we were settling for the night, when I was seized with foreboding of a coming storm. Dan laughed and called it a crazy notion and beyond all reason. But the feeling increased in intensity until I insisted on seeking the shelter of some building. Dan acquiesced reluctantly, but by the time we had repacked and loaded the wheel, night had fallen. At the nearest farm we asked permission to sleep in the barn, but were abruptly denied. At the next house the inmates refused to answer our knock. “Well, what are you going to do now? Walk all night?” expostulated Dan. On our left a dark mass appeared in the darkness and proved to be the ruins of a race track grandstand. As I stumbled beneath the tiers of seats, hoping for some promise of protection, a man leaped up almost at my feet. I sprang back, startled. “Come,” said the stranger, “I know the way.” As though in a trance I followed him, my hand guiding the wheel, while Dan pushed behind. We immediately came on a narrow board walk at right angles to the road. The man led on into the thick darkness, the two of us following blindly after. On and on we travelled as though impelled by some force outside our own volition. A huge building loomed on our right. Silently we skirted it, the clop, clop of our feet on the boards giving way to noiseless progress over grassy turf. Suddenly the front wheel of the tandem struck some obstacle, and in the deepened gloom I could faintly discern the outlines of another building, the steps of which were before me. These I mounted, preceded by our strange guide, who said not a word, but rapped loudly on the door. From some remote region came a scuffling, then the bang of an inner door, and down a long hall shuffled a tall, lean figure wrapped in a trailing dressing gown. An oil lamp in its hand gave forth a yellow gleam, which lighted up the old-fashioned interior and shone through the glass panelled door. The old man, for such it was, peered through the glass at our mysterious attendant, and then, after prolonged fumbling with lock and bolts and chain, slowly swung open the door. “And who might yez be?” he inquired in a rich brogue, directing a keen Irish eye on Dan and me. We explained our situation as briefly as possible and asked for the shelter of some outbuilding for the night. “Faith, and ye’re wilcome to the house. Sure and it’s large enough for tin and but three av us to fill it.” As he spoke there came a tapping and a little old woman with snapping black eyes skipped like a bird to his side. “An’ indade they shall not come inside this house the night. Murdthered in me bed I will not be.” “Hush, Katie,” querulously chided the ancient. “This is no time for to be exercisin’ yer conthrary timper.” But the little old woman braced herself in the doorway as though to defy the world, and I hastened to state that we only wanted to sleep in the barn.