traffic, in an open space which, he knew, must be near the waterside,
for beyond the lights of the booths he had spied a cluster of masts
quite close at hand. Or perhaps he had fallen asleep and in his sleep
had been transported far inland. For the wind had suddenly died down,
the coach appeared to be standing in a forest glade--at any rate, among
trees--and through the trees fell a soft radiance that might well be the
moon's were it only a tinge less yellow. In the shine of it stood
Manasseh, holding open the coach door; and as the child stepped out
these queer impressions were succeeded by one still more curious and
startling. For a hand, as it seemed, reached out of the darkness,
brushed him smartly across the face, and was gone. He gave a little cry
and stood staring aloft at a lantern that hung some feet above him from
an arched bracket. Across its glass face ran the legend BOWLING GREEN
INN, in orange-coloured lettering, and the ray of its oil-lamp wavered
on the boughs of two tall maples set like sentinels by the Inn gateway
and reddening now to the fall of the leaf. Yes, the ground about his
feet was strewn with leaves: it must be one of these that had brushed by
his face.

If the folk in the streets had been sullen, those of the Inn were eager
enough, even obsequious. A trio of grooms fell to unharnessing the
horses; a couple of porters ran to and fro, unloading the baggage and
cooking-pots; while the landlady shouted orders right and left in the
porchway. She deemed, honest soul, that she was mistress of the
establishment, until Manasseh undeceived her.

Manasseh's huge stature and gold-encrusted livery commanded respect in
spite of his colour. He addressed her as "woman." "Woman, if you will
stop yo' cacklin' and yo' crowin'? Go in now and fetch me fish, fetch
me chickens, fetch me plenty eggs. Fetch me a dam scullion. Heh?