"This must be Keanton," he said to himself. "It is just the sort of place; but they seem rather late risers here for country people. If they had been at the Ridotto last night, or at the Water theatre, or at the Italians, they might well be lagging in bed; but here, where they have nothing to do but lie down and go to sleep when the sun sets, they might very well get up when he rises, methinks. Hark!" The sounds which had called his attention increased, and round the corner, by the rookery, came a young peasant-lad in his broad hat and his yellow frock, whistling gaily. All Van Noost's weariness and wandering were forgotten in the joyful sight; and, whipping on his pony, he rode up to the lad, asking him if there was nobody up in the house. "I cannot tell," replied the youth, with a strong Devonshire accent. "Master Thompson at the farm is up." 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. "Ballimoree! Ballimoree!" mentally ejaculated Van Noost. "What the deuce does he mean by Ballimoree?" And when he had looked after the young man for a minute or two, he turned his pony's head to see if he could discover the farm-house which had been mentioned. It was by no means difficult to do so, for as soon as he had passed the rookery it became visible, with a number of small houses and cottages, in a little wild dell to the right.