Paul liked his host. He liked the sense of good fellowship, the absence of patronage, the unusual reticence that abstained from questions as to why he was there at all.
"Do you know my father?" he asked presently.
"I'm afraid not," said the man, "but if you tell me his name I dare say I may have heard of him."
"He's not at all like me," Paul announced. "He's awfully sensible, every one says that, but he's a most good-natured man and kind as kind. Surely you must know Squire Staniland?"
The man shook his head. "I'm afraid not, though I have heard his name."
"What county are we in?" asked Paul.
The man told him, and it was not our county.
"Then we've walked right into another shire," Paul exclaimed. "What a way we've come! That's why you don't know father."
"What about your people?" asked the man. "Won't they wonder where you are?"
"They'll wonder," said Paul, "and they won't be best pleased, but they won't send out search-parties till evening because I've done it before."