It struck me that the old body was a
little lofty, and just then Mr. Poplington, who I hadn't noticed, came
up.
"Really," said he, "I didn't know you was acquainted with the
Countess."
"The which?" said I.
"The Countess of Mussleby," said he, "that you was just talking to."
"Countess!" I cried. "Why, that's the old person who recommended us to
go to Chedcombe."
"Very natural," said he, "for her to do that, for her estates lie south
of Chedcombe, and she takes a great interest in the villages around
about, and knows all the houses to let."
I parted from him and wandered away, a sadness stealing o'er my soul.
Gone with the recollections of the clotted cream was my visions of
diamond tiaras, tossing plumes, and long folds of brocades and laces
sweeping the marble floors of palaces. If ever again I read a novel
with a countess in it, I shall see the edge of a yellow flannel
petticoat and a pair of shoes like two horse-hair bags, which was the
last that I saw of this thunderbolt into the middle of my visions of
aristocracy.
Jone and me got to like Buxton very much. We met many pleasant people,
and as most of them had a chord in common, we was friendly enough.
![Pomona's Travels, By Frank R. Stockton
- And did you like Chedcombe?]
I wanted to speak up for America, and tried to think of some good
antidote - Page 169](../images/travel.jpg)
