cold draught of wind. A door opposite and giving onto a yard at the back
had been opened at precisely the same moment; and as Wogan stepped
quickly in at his door a man stepped quickly out by the door opposite
and was lost in the darkness.

"What! Are you going?" the landlord cried after him as he turned from
the fire at which he was lighting a candle.

"Wilhelm has a wife and needs must," at once said a woman who was
reaching down some plates from a dresser.

The landlord turned towards the passage and saw Wogan in the doorway.

"You found your way, sir," said he, looking at Wogan anxiously.

"Nor are your walls any poorer of paint on that account," said Wogan as
he took his wet cloak and flung it over a chair.

The landlord blew out his candle and busied himself about laying the
table. A great iron pot swung over the fire by a chain, and the lid
danced on the top and allowed a savoury odour to escape. Wogan sat
himself down before the fire and his clothes began to steam.

"You laugh at my paint, sir," said the landlord. He was a fat,
good-humoured-looking man, communicative in his manner as a Boniface
should be, and his wife was his very complement. "You laugh at my
paint, but it is, after all, a very important thing. What is a great
lady without her rouge-pot, when you come to think of it? It is the same
with an inn. It must wear paint if it is to attract attention and make a
profit."

"There is philosophy in the comparison," said Wogan.

"Sir, an innkeeper cannot fail of philosophy if he has his eyes and a
spark of intelligence. The man who took refuge in a tub because the
follies of his fellows so angered him was the greatest fool of them all.
He should have kept an inn on the road to Athens, for then the follies
would have put money into his pocket and made him laugh instead of
growl."

His wife came over to the fireplace and lifted the lid of the pot.

"The supper is ready," said she.

"And perhaps, sir, while you are eating it you can think of a name for
my inn."

"Why, it has a sign-board already," said Wogan, "and a name, too, I
suppose."

"It has a sign-board, but without a device," said the landlord, and
while Wogan drew a chair to the table he explained his predicament.

"There is another inn five miles along the road, and travellers prefer
to make their halt there. They will not stop here. My father, sir, set
it all down to paint. It was his dream, sir, to paint the house from
floor to