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Journals of Dorothy Wordsworth, Vol. 1 (of 2)
·
Dorothy Wordsworth
198
We
asked
the
turnpike
man
to
let
us
have
some
meal
and
water.
He
had
no
meal,
but
luckily
we
had
part
of
a
feed
of
corn
brought
from
Keswick,
and
he
procured
some
hay
at
a
neighbouring
house.
In
the
meantime
I
went
into
the
house,
where
was
an
old
man
with
a
grey
plaid
over
his
shoulders,
reading
a
newspaper.
On
the
shelf
lay
a
volume
of
the
Scotch
Encyclopædia,
a
History
of
England,
and
some
other
books.
The
old
man
was
a
caller
by
the
way.
The
man
of
the
house
came
back,
and
we
began
to
talk.
He
was
very
intelligent;
had
travelled
all
over
England,
Scotland,
and
Ireland
as
a
gentleman's
servant,
and
now
lived
alone
in
that
lonesome
place.
He
said
he
was
tired
of
his
bargain,
for
he
feared
he
should
lose
by
it.
And
he
had
indeed
a
troublesome
office,
for
coal-carts
without
number
were
passing
by,
and
the
drivers
seemed
to
do
their
utmost
to
cheat
him.
There
is
always
something
peculiar
in
the
house
of
a
man
living
alone.
This
was
but
half-furnished,
yet
nothing
seemed
wanting
for
his
comfort,
though
a
female
who
had
travelled
half
as
far
would
have
needed
fifty
other
things.
He
had
no
other
meat
or
drink
in
the
house
but
oat
bread
and
cheese--the
cheese
was
made
with
the
addition
of
seeds--and
some
skimmed
milk.
He
gave
us
of
his
bread
and
cheese,
and
milk,
which
proved
to
be
sour.
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