Of course the quotation came from the Book of the Moment, which, just then, happened to be Don Quixote. He had found the Mad Knight in the attic, an old translation in four volumes, published in 1810, with a map and many steel engravings. He read it right through with his usual absorbed interest, but expressed regret that there was such "an awful lot about lovers and that." The Don’s passion for the peerless Dulcinea he did not attempt to understand, and the long love stories of other people interspersed throughout bored him. But the adventures thrilled him, and Sancho Panza’s was a character that he got on terms with at once. There was something dear and familiar about the sturdy Sancho: something of Mr. Mumford. For although, so far as Paul knew, Mr. Mumford never went further afield than Garchester, still he was confident that, did occasion arise, Mr. Mumford would not fail him. Paul often pictured himself, attended by this faithful henchman, riding forth on two of his father’s best hunters, to seek their fortunes in an unknown world. It is true that he had never in so many words mooted the idea to Mr. Mumford in any of their more intimate conversations, but he felt assured that Mr. Mumford would never suffer him to set out alone and unaided. He was, perhaps, a thought disappointed that this boon companion had not suggested going with him that very morning, but he acquitted him of all intentional disloyalty, when he reflected on the compelling qualities of the voice that haled the unwilling Sammle to the parsnip bed. He was sure Mr. Mumford would have preferred to accompany him—which is quite likely. It was impossible to be Don Quixote without an attendant; so, somewhat regretfully, Paul fell back upon the beloved Boots, the resourceful and ever-conquering third son of his favourite Fairy Book. Here, Thor was quite in the picture. It is true that in _Tales from the Norse_ there isn’t much about dogs. Horses play all the larger parts, but "lots of animals come in," and Paul liked that. "After all," he remarked complacently to Thor, "we shan’t have to keep on being in love on such a hot morning." Paul’s view of love-making strongly resembled that of cook, who, when she caught Greenwood, the groom, kissing the kitchenmaid, boxed their several ears, but related the incident quite dispassionately to mother, concluding her recital with the remark, "I don’t hold with it myself, but there—I suppose it’s pleasing to some." Paul, too, was quite ready to allow that it might be "pleasing to some"; but his mood that morning was not attuned to the contemplation of transcendantly beautiful ladies. He pined for the society of a like-minded bachelor, a jolly bachelor of sociable habits, who would understand and sympathise with a desire to be free for a while from the tyranny of the tempestuous petticoat.