Burwain is an isolated little place, lying low in a hollow depression of the land, some distance from the sea. On its outskirts the road ran through levels of stunted shrubs not big enough to be called trees, and there were also tall hedges, which muffled the village as though it were wrapped in cotton-wool. By reason of this the place is stuffy, and the air seems to be twice breathed. The streets stretch to the four quarters in the form of a crooked cross, and there was a tolerably wide green in the centre, which is faced by the Robin Redbreast Inn. I pulled up, and jumped out to meet the landlady in the passage and receive a great surprise.
"Cuckoo!" I said, halting in much astonishment. "Well, I'm blest."
"Mrs. Gilfin now, Master Cyrus," said the old lady, as amazed as I was. "Well, well to think that you of all gentlemen should come here."
"It's fate," said I, for I knew that from Mrs. Gilfin, if anyone, I could obtain all necessary news, unless she had changed her gossiping habits, which I did not think at all likely.
Still exclaiming at our unexpected meeting, Mrs. Gilfin led the way to a small sitting-room, and we faced one another to talk over the past. Mrs. Gilfin had been my mother's cook when I was a schoolboy, and then we had been the greatest of friends. As a child I had always called her Cuckoo, from some dim association with her employment, and many a time had I been indebted to her for tit-bits. When the home was broken up she had vanished into the unknown, but now reappeared in the character of a married woman and the landlady, of this old-world inn. She was a fat little woman, with a pudding-face, who wore spectacles, behind which sharp little pig's eyes twinkled knowingly. In old days she had always been a great talker, and did not seemed to have changed in this respect: a cause of rejoicing to me, since I hoped to learn all I could about Miss Monk and her dead nurse.
"What brought you to Burwain, Master Cyrus?" asked Mrs. Gilfin, when we had complimented each other on the gentle way in which time had dealt with our looks.
I had already arranged what to say, as, if I wanted Mrs. Gilfin's assistance, it was necessary to take her, in some degree, into my confidence. Moreover, I knew of old that she was a very worthy and silent--when it suited her--woman. "Love brings me here, Cuckoo," I replied, "and love will keep me here for at least a week, if not longer. So give me a sitting-room and a bedroom and recall the special dishes I like. Don't ask questions just yet. I shall tell you all when I have had dinner, but just now I am much too hungry to talk. Have you been long here?" I asked, contradicting my last assertion.