At noon, after Harry Mule had been sent jingling to his stable, Derrick rejoined his friend, and they ate lunch together. As they talked of the strange markings on the walls, and Derrick confessed that he knew no more concerning their age than Paul, the latter suddenly paused, and with a slight gesture directed attention to something in the roadway.
Looking in the direction indicated, Derrick saw, sitting bolt-upright on its hind-legs, and gazing steadily at them, an immense rat. He was quite gray, and evidently very old; nor did he seem to be in the least bit afraid of them.
"Doesn't he look wise?" whispered Paul.
"As wise as Socrates," answered Derrick.
Not having had Derrick's education, Paul did not know who Socrates was, but the name pleased him, and he said it over softly to himself—"Socrates, Soc, Socrates. That's what I'm going to call him, Derrick—'Socrates.' I've seen him round here two or three times this morning, and every time he's sat up just like that, and looked as if he knew all that I was thinking about. I believe he could tell how old the ferns are."
"I don't believe they're as old as he is," replied Derrick, laughing.
The rat did not seem to like this, for at Derrick's laughter he gave a little squeak and darted away, disappearing beneath the door.
Within five minutes Paul pointed again, and there sat the rat in precisely the same position as before.
"Perhaps this is what he wants," said Paul, throwing a bit of bread towards the rat. Approaching it cautiously, the beast first smelled of it, and then seizing it in his mouth again darted beneath the door. Several times did he thus come for food, but he always carried it away without stopping to eat even a crumb.
"He must have a large and hungry family," said Derrick.