The Squire, leaving word that he would call again, took Reginald back into the town. They were getting hungry, so very naturally they proceeded in the first place to the well-remembered sock-shop, known by the world at large as a pastry-cook's. A supply of ices and strawberry messes was at once ordered and discussed with great gusto, buns and other cakes giving some consistency to the repast. Who would have expected to see Squire Warrender, of Blessingham, who had not perhaps for years taken any other than a solid meat luncheon, with bottled stout, or a biscuit and a glass of wine, lunching off sweet cakes and strawberries and cream? But the truth was, that he did not feel just then a bit like Squire Warrender, of Blessingham; he was once more little Reginald Warrender, somewhat of a pickle, and very fond of those said luscious articles. To be sure another Reginald Warrender stood by his side; but he was, as it were, a part of himself, or it might he himself, or a younger companion. At all events he felt a great deal too young just then to be anybody's father, and was quite surprised that the young women behind the counter did not recognise him. Surely they were the very same he must have known. While they were eating away, an old lady with spectacles on her nose, and a high white cap on her head, came into the shop. "I have come with this youngster here to show him about the place," said the Squire. "This is a shop I used to know well once upon a time; but the young ladies here don't seem to recognise me." "I should think not," said the old lady, laughing, as did the young ones. "Perhaps I might though, if I knew your name. What years were you here?" The Squire told her. "I was about their age then, and stood where they now stand," she observed, as she went into an inner room, and brought down a longish parchment-covered volume. "Oh, I now remember you perfectly well, Master Warrender," said she, turning over the pages, and evidently also forgetting how many years had rolled away since the Squire was Master Warrender. "You were a very good customer of ours, that you were, indeed. You had a good healthy appetite: six dozen oranges, three dozen queencakes, a couple of dozen hot-cross buns for breakfast on one occasion. I suppose you didn't eat them all yourself though. And now I see you left owing us a little account. It was no great matter; only fifteen and sixpence for cherries and strawberries." "Sold, papa!" whispered Reginald, aside, and highly amused. "It is pleasant, however, to be able to pay off old scores." "I fear that the account is too correct," said the Squire. "Let me see, how was it? Ah, I recollect--a wager, I am afraid. Cleveland and I. We tried to see which could eat the most in a given time. Don't you go and do such a silly thing though, Reginald, or I'll disinherit you. He ought to have paid, for I beat him; but I ordered them. Well, I will pay you now with interest."