Transcriber's Note: Inconsistent hyphenation and spelling in the original document have been preserved. Obvious typographical errors have been corrected. Italic text is denoted by _underscores_. The Affair at the Inn by Kate Douglas Wiggin Mary Findlater Jane Findlater Allan McAulay Gay and Hancock, Ltd. 12 and 13 Henrietta Street, Covent Garden LONDON 1910 _All rights reserved_ An account of certain events which are supposed to have occurred in the month of May 19--, at a quiet inn on Dartmoor, in Devonshire; the events being recorded by the persons most interested in the unfolding of the little international comedy. The story is written by four authors, each author being responsible for one character, as follows:-- MISS VIRGINIA POMEROY, of Richmond, Virginia, U.S.A., _by Kate Douglas Wiggin_, Author of 'Penelope's Experiences,' etc. MRS. MACGILL, of Tunbridge Wells, _by Mary Findlater_, Author of 'The Rose of Joy,' etc. MISS CECILIA EVESHAM, Mrs. MacGill's companion, _by Jane Findlater_, Author of 'The Green Graves of Balgowrie,' etc. SIR ARCHIBALD MAXWELL MACKENZIE, of Kindarroch, N.B., _by Allan McAulay_, Author of 'The Rhymer,' etc. THE AFFAIR AT THE INN I VIRGINIA POMEROY DARTMOOR, DEVONSHIRE, THE GREY TOR INN, _Tuesday, May 18th, 19--_ When my poor father died five years ago, the doctor told my mother that she must have an entire change. We left America at once, and we have been travelling ever since, always in the British Isles, as the sound of foreign languages makes mamma more nervous. As a matter of fact, the doctor did not advise eternal change, but that is the interpretation mamma has placed upon his command, and so we are for ever moving on, like What's-his-name in _Bleak House_. It is not so extraordinary, then, that we are in the Devonshire moorlands, because one cannot travel incessantly for four years in the British Isles without being everywhere, in course of time. That is what I said to a disagreeable, frumpy Englishwoman in the railway carriage yesterday. 'I have no fault to find with Great Britain,' I said, 'except that it is so circumscribed! I have outgrown my first feeling, which was a fear of falling off the edge; but I still have a sensation of being cabined, cribbed, confined.' She remarked that she had always preferred a small, perfectly finished, and well-managed estate to a large, rank, wild, and overgrown one, and I am bound to say that I think the retort was a good one. It must have been, for it silenced me.