"Aye, to Moongrass, where the cheeses come from. You see it was this way. I'm goatherd to the Lud yeomanry what the Seneschal has sent to watch the border to keep out you know what. And who should come running into their camp about half an hour ago with his red jerkin and his green hair but your young gentleman. 'Halt!' cries the Yeoman on guard. 'Let me pass. I'm young Master Chanticleer,' cries he. 'And where are you bound for?' cries the Yeoman on guard. 'For Fairyland,' says he. And then didn't they all laugh! And the little chap flew into quite a rage, and said he was off to Fairyland, and no one should stop him. And, of course, that just made them laugh all the more. But though they wouldn't let him go to Fairyland, the young rascal...." And here the old man was seized with a paroxysm of wheezy laughter which brought on another bout of coughing. "Well, as I was saying," he went on, when he had recovered, "they wouldn't let him through to Fairyland, but they said they would ride back with him where he came from. 'No, you won't,' says he; 'my dad,' says he, 'don't want me to go back there, never any more.' And he whisks out a letter signed by the Seneschal, bidding him leave the widow Gibberty's farm, where he was staying, and go straight off to Farmer Jellygreen's at Moongrass. So one of the Yeomen saddled his horse, and the youngster got up behind him, and they set off for Moongrass by one of the cattle-paths running northeast, which comes out at about the middle of the road between Swan and Moongrass. So that's that, my young fellow." In his relief Luke tossed his cap into the air. "The young rascal!" he cried joyfully; "fancy his never having told me he'd got a letter from his Worship, and me expecting that letter for the last three days, and getting stomach-ache with worry at its not coming! And saying he was off to a certain place, too! A nice fright he's given me. But thank'ee, gaffer, thank'ee kindly. And here's something for you to drink the health of Master Ranulph Chanticleer," and with a heart as light as a bird's, he began to retrace his steps down the valley. But what was that faint sound behind him? It sounded suspiciously like the Ho, ho, hoh! of that impudent Willy Wisp, who for a short time, had been one of his Worship's grooms. He stopped, and looked round. No one was visible except the old goatherd in the distance, leaning on his stick. What he had heard could have been nothing but the distant tinkle of the goat bells. When he reached the farm, he found it in a tumult. The little boys had frightened Hazel out of her wits, and confirmed her worst fears by the news that "Master Ranulph had run away towards the hills, and that Master Hempen had run after him." "Granny!" cried Hazel, wringing her hands, "a messenger must be sent off post-haste to the Seneschal!"