Moreover, as it was now only December 3, I had too much
time on my hands, but I had not dared to cut things finer.
I reached the hut at about six o'clock, and introduced myself to the
shepherd, who was a nice, kind old man, commonly called Harris, but his
real name he told me was Horace--Horace Taylor. I had the conversation
with him of which I have already told the reader, adding that my father
had been unable to give a coherent account of what he had seen, and that
I had been sent to get the information he had failed to furnish.
The old man said that I must certainly wait a couple of days before I
went higher up the river. He had made himself a nice garden, in which he
took the greatest pride, and which supplied him with plenty of
vegetables. He was very glad to have company, and to receive the
newspapers which I had taken care to bring him. He had a real genius for
simple cookery, and fed me excellently. My father's 5 pounds, and the
ration of brandy which I nightly gave him, made me a welcome guest, and
though I was longing to be at any rate as far as the foot of the pass
into Erewhon, I amused myself very well in an abundance of ways with
which I need not trouble the reader.
One of the first things that Harris said to me was, "I wish I knew what
your father did with the nice red blanket he had with him when he went up
the river.
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