A FINE INN SIGN their passengers didn't. It was said to be the finest sign on the road. More than once, to settle a wager, the coach waited whilst the board was measured. It's a sad pity, but the scrolled iron-work is corroding away, besides getting bent out of place here and there from the heat of the sun, but I expect it will last my time for all that. The owner would like to restore the old inn, only there is so little road custom now, it would not pay to do so." "But how about the cyclists," we queried; "do you not obtain a good deal of custom from them?" "Well, not very much, sir. Somehow, they seem mostly to pass along without stopping. Now and then one or two may stop just for a glass of ale, but the majority of them simply slow down a bit as they pass by, and exclaim, 'What a funny old place!' or a similar remark; but a few odd glasses of ale and a lot of remarks don't go far towards paying rent You see, there's nothing to come here for, this isn't a tourist country. Now, were we only near to a watering-place, we should get a lot of folks a-driving over to see the old house, refreshing themselves, and baiting their horses. Then there would be money in it." For myself, I am selfishly glad that the "Bell" at Stilton is not near any fashionable resort, otherwise there would be a great chance of its picturesqeness being improved away. As it is, it may still, with a little repairing now and then, last for centuries, to delight the eye of antiquaries and artists yet unborn—a bit of history in stone of the never-returning past.
Then the landlord asked us to go into his garden
