Thinking thus, I almost forgot the storm, but coming to a slight descent where the road was very smooth I became conscious that my wheel was inclined to slip, and if I were not careful I might come to grief.  But no sooner had I reached the bottom of the declivity than I beheld on my right a lighted doorway.  Without the slightest hesitation I turned through the wide gateway, the posts of which I could scarcely see, and stopped in front of a small house by the side of a driveway.  Waiting for no permission, I carried my bicycle into a little covered porch.  I then approached the door, for I was now seeking not only shelter but an opportunity to dry myself.  I do not believe a sponge could have been more thoroughly soaked than I was.

At the very entrance I was met by a little man in short jacket and top-boots.

“I heard your step,” said he.  “Been caught in the rain, eh?  Well, this is a storm!  And now what’re we going to do?  You must come in.  But you’re in a pretty mess, I must say!  Hi, Maria!”

At these words a large, fresh-looking woman came into the little hall.

“Maria,” said the man, “here’s a gentleman that’s pretty nigh drowned, and he’s dripping puddles big enough to swim in.”

The woman smiled.  “Really, sir,” said she, “you’ve had a hard time.  Wheeling, I suppose.  It’s an awful time to be out.  It’s so dark that I lighted a lamp to make things look a little cheery.  But you must come in until the rain is over, and try and dry yourself.”

“But how about the hall, Maria?” said the man.  “There’ll be a dreadful slop!”

“Oh, I’ll make that all right,” she said.  She disappeared, and quickly returned with a couple of rugs, which she laid, wrong side up, on the polished floor of the hallway.  “Now you can step on those, sir, and come into the kitchen.  There’s a fire there.”

I thanked her, and presently found myself before a large stove, on which it was evident, from the odors, that supper was preparing.  In a certain way the heat was grateful, but in less than a minute I was bound to admit to myself that I felt as if I were enveloped in a vast warm poultice.  The little man and his wife—­if wife she were, for she looked big enough to be his mother, and young enough to be his daughter—­stood talking in the hall, and I could hear every word they said.

[Illustration:  “On my right A lighted doorway”]

“It’s of no use for him to try to dry himself,” she said, “for he’s wet to the bone.  He must change his clothes, and hang those he’s got on before the fire.”

“Change his clothes!” exclaimed the man.  “How ever can he do that?  I’ve nothing that’ll fit him, and of course he has brought nothing along with him.”

“Never you mind,” said she.  “Something’s got to be got.  Take him into the little chamber.  And don’t consider the floor; that can be wiped up.”

She came into the kitchen and spoke to me.  “You must come and change your clothes,” she said.  “You’ll catch your death of cold, else.  You’re the school-master from Walford, I think, sir?  Indeed, I’m sure of it, for I’ve seen you on your wheel.”