The Seven Poor Travellers | Page 3

the reader at no expense into plain ASCII,
EBCDIC or equivalent form by the program that displays the etext (as is the case, for
instance, with most word processors); OR
[*] You provide, or agree to also provide on request at no additional cost, fee or expense,
a copy of the etext in its original plain ASCII form (or in EBCDIC or other equivalent
proprietary form).
[2] Honor the etext refund and replacement provisions of this "Small Print!" statement.
[3] Pay a trademark license fee to the Project of 20% of the net profits you derive
calculated using the method you already use to calculate your applicable taxes. If you
don't derive profits, no royalty is due. Royalties are payable to "Project Gutenberg
Association/Carnegie-Mellon University" within the 60 days following each date you
prepare (or were legally required to prepare) your annual (or equivalent periodic) tax
return.
WHAT IF YOU *WANT* TO SEND MONEY EVEN IF YOU DON'T HAVE TO?
The Project gratefully accepts contributions in money, time, scanning machines, OCR
software, public domain etexts, royalty free copyright licenses, and every other sort of
contribution you can think of. Money should be paid to "Project Gutenberg Association /
Carnegie-Mellon University".
*END*THE SMALL PRINT! FOR PUBLIC DOMAIN ETEXTS*Ver.04.29.93*END*

THE SEVEN POOR TRAVELLERS--IN THREE


CHAPTERS

by Charles Dickens



CHAPTER I
--IN THE OLD CITY OF ROCHESTER

Strictly speaking, there were only six Poor Travellers; but, being a Traveller myself,
though an idle one, and being withal as poor as I hope to be, I brought the number up to
seven. This word of explanation is due at once, for what says the inscription over the
quaint old door?
RICHARD WATTS, Esq. by his Will, dated 22 Aug. 1579, founded this Charity for Six
poor Travellers, who not being ROGUES, or PROCTORS, May receive gratis for one
Night, Lodging, Entertainment, and Fourpence each.
It was in the ancient little city of Rochester in Kent, of all the good days in the year upon
a Christmas-eve, that I stood reading this inscription over the quaint old door in question.
I had been wandering about the neighbouring Cathedral, and had seen the tomb of
Richard Watts, with the effigy of worthy Master Richard starting out of it like a ship's
figure-head; and I had felt that I could do no less, as I gave the Verger his fee, than
inquire the way to Watts's Charity. The way being very short and very plain, I had come
prosperously to the inscription and the quaint old door.
"Now," said I to myself, as I looked at the knocker, "I know I am not a Proctor; I wonder
whether I am a Rogue!"
Upon the whole, though Conscience reproduced two or three pretty faces which might
have had smaller attraction for a moral Goliath than they had had for me, who am but a
Tom Thumb in that way, I came to the conclusion that I was not a Rogue. So, beginning
to regard the establishment as in some sort my property, bequeathed to me and divers
co-legatees, share and share alike, by the Worshipful Master Richard Watts, I stepped
backward into the road to survey my inheritance.
I found it to be a clean white house, of a staid and venerable air, with the quaint old door
already three times mentioned (an arched door), choice little long low lattice-windows,
and a roof of three gables. The silent High Street of Rochester is full of gables, with old
beams and timbers carved into strange faces. It is oddly garnished with a queer old clock
that projects over the pavement out of a grave red-brick building, as if Time carried on
business there, and hung out his sign. Sooth to say, he did an active stroke of work in
Rochester, in the old days of the Romans, and the Saxons, and the Normans; and down to
the times of King John, when the rugged castle--I will not undertake to say how many
hundreds of years old then--was abandoned to the centuries of weather which have so
defaced the dark apertures in its walls, that the ruin looks as if the rooks and daws had
pecked its eyes out.
I was very well pleased, both with my property and its situation. While I was yet
surveying it with growing content, I espied, at one of the upper lattices which stood open,

a decent body, of a wholesome matronly appearance, whose eyes I caught inquiringly
addressed to mine. They said so plainly, "Do you wish to see the house?" that I answered
aloud, "Yes, if you please." And within a minute the old door opened, and I bent my head,
and went down two steps into the entry.
"This," said the matronly presence, ushering me into