This story is recounted by the narrator in Chapter XII, as a memory from a past river trip. The same three friends had landed at Datchet at 10 p.m. and had wanted to find a place to stay overnight. But the first inn they came to didn’t have honeysuckle growing around it (as J. would have preferred); and at the second one, Harris didn’t like the looks of the man who was leaning against the...
This story is recounted by the narrator in Chapter XII, as a memory from a past river trip. The same three friends had landed at Datchet at 10 p.m. and had wanted to find a place to stay overnight. But the first inn they came to didn’t have honeysuckle growing around it (as J. would have preferred); and at the second one, Harris didn’t like the looks of the man who was leaning against the front door. They continued on, and soon found out that these were the only inns in Datchet. They turned around and went back, only to learn that both inns were now quite full of guests. Based on local advice, they then moved on to a beershop, to a grocer’s, and to an old woman who rented rooms. All were full. The men were despondent. Harris sat down and said he would not go any farther.
“At that moment an angel came by in the disguise of a small boy,” J. says. The boy led them to his mother’s small cottage. She fed them fairly decently. George and J. slept in one small bed, and Harris slept in the young boy’s bed, all uncomfortably. They had learned their lesson about being picky about inns, J. concludes. “We were not so uppish about what sort of hotel we would have, next time we went to Datchet.
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