“What can I do for you?” he asked. “Inn? yes, there's the Blue Chequers, but I 'm afraid you 'll find it shut. They 're early people, I 'm glad to say”; and his eyes seemed to muse over the proper fold for these damp sheep. “Are you Oxford men, by any chance?” he asked, as if that might throw some light upon the matter. “Of Mary's? Really! I'm of Paul's myself. Ladyman--Billington Ladyman; you might remember my youngest brother. I could give you a room here if you could manage without sheets. My housekeeper has two days' holiday; she's foolishly taken the keys.” Shelton accepted gladly, feeling that the intonation in the parson's voice was necessary unto his calling, and that he did not want to patronise. “You 're hungry, I expect, after your tramp. I'm very much afraid there '.--er--nothing in the house but bread; I could boil you water; hot lemonade is better than nothing.” Conducting them into the kitchen, he made a fire, and put a kettle on to boil; then, after leaving them to shed their soaking clothes, returned with ancient, greenish coats, some carpet slippers, and some blankets. Wrapped in these, and carrying their glasses, the travellers followed to the study, where, by doubtful lamp-light, he seemed, from books upon the table, to have been working at his sermon. “We 're giving you a lot of trouble,” said Shelton, “it's really very good of you.” “Not at all,” the parson answered; “I'm only grieved the house is empty.” It was a truly dismal contrast to the fatness of the land they had been passing through, and the parson's voice issuing from bloodless lips, although complacent, was pathetic. It was peculiar, that voice of his, seeming to indicate an intimate acquaintanceship with what was fat and fine, to convey contempt for the vulgar need of money, while all the time his eyes--those watery, ascetic eyes--as plain as speech they said, “Oh, to know what it must be like to have a pound or two to spare just once a year, or so!” Everything in the room had been bought for cheapness; no luxuries were there, and necessaries not enough. It was bleak and bare; the ceiling cracked, the wall-paper discoloured, and those books--prim, shining books, fat-backed, with arms stamped on them--glared in the surrounding barrenness. “My predecessor,” said the parson, “played rather havoc with the house. The poor fellow had a dreadful struggle, I was told. You can, unfortunately, expect nothing else these days, when livings have come down so terribly in value! He was a married man--large family!”