Transcriber's Note:
Obvious typographical errors have been corrected.Inconsistent spelling and hyphenation in the originaldocument have been preserved.
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 tohave occurred in the month of May 19—, at a quietinn on Dartmoor, in Devonshire; the events beingrecorded by the persons most interested in the unfoldingof the little international comedy.
The story is written by four authors, each author beingresponsible for one character, as follows:—
Miss Virginia Pomeroy, of Richmond, Virginia, U.S.A.,by Kate Douglas Wiggin, Author of 'Penelope'sExperiences,' etc.
Mrs. MacGill, of Tunbridge Wells, by Mary Findlater,Author of 'The Rose of Joy,' etc.
Miss Cecilia Evesham, Mrs. MacGill's companion, byJane Findlater, Author of 'The Green Graves ofBalgowrie,' 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 musthave an entire change. We left America atonce, and we have been travelling ever since,always in the British Isles, as the soundof foreign languages makes mamma morenervous. As a matter of fact, the doctordid not advise eternal change, but that isthe interpretation mamma has placed uponhis command, and so we are for ever movingon, like What's-his-name in Bleak House.It is not so extraordinary, then, that we arein the Devonshire moorlands, because one2cannot travel incessantly for four years inthe British Isles without being everywhere,in course of time. That is what I said to adisagreeable, frumpy Englishwoman in therailway carriage yesterday.
'I have no fault to find with GreatBritain,' 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 preferreda small, perfectly finished, and well-managedestate to a large, rank, wild, andovergrown one, and I am bound to say thatI think the retort was a good one. It musthave been, for it silenced me.
We have done Scotland, Ireland, andWales, and having begun at the top of themap, have gone as far as Devon in England.We have been travelling by counties duringthe last year, because it seemed tidier andmore thorough and businesslike; less confusing3too, for the places look so alike aftera while that I can never remember wherewe have been without looking in my diary.I don't know what will come after England,—perhapsAustralia and