As he spoke, he looked very earnestly at Van Noost, and there was a sly, quiet, inquiring glance of the eye, which did not at all harmonize with his gay thoughtless aspect the moment before, as he came whistling along. It was not alone shrewd, but suspicious, and Van Noost said to himself--
"Ay, ay, these tenants are all well drilled not to endanger their master's interests by any indiscretion. Now, I will answer for it, there would be no slight difficulty in getting any straightforward answer from this good youth. I'll try."
"So, the farmer's name is Master Thompson," he said, aloud. "A very good name, too. Pray, what is your name, my lad?"
"What is yours?" said the young man, looking him point blank in the face.
"That is not the question," answered Van Noost. "I asked what yours is!"
"Then that is not the question either," replied the lad; "but if you be the gentleman come from Exeter, you ought to know my name."
"I have not been in Exeter," replied Van Noost; "and, even if I had, I don't see how I should know your name, when I never saw your face before. If you carried it written upon your forehead like a certain old lady of Babylon, one might know something about it."
"To be sure," replied the lad; "and so should I know something about yours. I am not fond of answering questions, master; so, if you have come to speak to me from Exeter, you had better speak out. Ballimoree!"
"Ballimoree!" exclaimed Van Noost, with surprise. "What in the name of fortune does Ballimoree mean?"
"It means good morning to you, master," said the young man, with a knowing nod of the head; and he walked away, without waiting for any further question.