Master Nathaniel sighed wearily. "I had a feeling that you would not have seen him," he said; adding dreamily more to himself than to them: "Who knows? He may have gone by the Milky Way." And then it struck him that this was probably the last normal encounter he would ever have with ordinary human beings, and he smiled at them wistfully. "Well, well," he said, "you're having a pleasant holiday, I expect ... nothing to do and plenty to eat and drink, eh? Here's a couple of crowns for you. Send to one of the farms for a pigskin of red wine and drink my health ... and my son's. I'm off on what may prove a very long journey; I suppose this bridle-path will be as good a route as any?" They stared at him in amazement. "Please, your Worship, if you'll excuse me mentioning it, you must be making a mistake," said the sentry, in a shocked voice. "All the bridle-paths about here lead to nowhere but the Elfin Marches ... and beyond." "It is for beyond that I am bound," answered Master Nathaniel curtly. And digging his spurs into his horse's flanks, he dashed past the horrified Yeomen, and up one of the bridle-paths, as if he would take the Debatable Hills by storm. For a few seconds they stood staring at one another, with scared, astonished eyes. Then the sentry gave a low whistle. "He must be powerful fond of that little chap," he said. "If the little chap really slipped past without our seeing him, that will be the third Chanticleer to cross the hills. First there was the little missy at the Academy, then the young chap, then the Mayor." "Aye, but they didn't do it on an empty stomach--leastways, we know the Crabapple Blossoms didn't, and if the talk in Lud be true, the little chap had had a taste too of what he oughtn't," said another. "But it's another story to go when you're in your right mind. Doctor Leer can't have been in the right when he said all them Magistrates were played out, for it's the bravest thing has ever been done in Dorimare." Master Nathaniel, for how long he could not have said, went riding up and up the bridle-path that wound in and out among the foothills, which gradually grew higher and higher. Not a living creature did he meet with--not a goat, not so much as a bird. He began to feel curiously drowsy, as if he were riding in a dream. Suddenly his consciousness seemed to have gone out of gear, to have missed one of the notches in time or space, for he found himself riding along a high-road, in the midst of a crowd of peasants in holiday attire. Nor did this surprise him--his passive uncritical mood was impervious to surprise. And yet ... what were these people with whom he had mingled? An ordinary troop of holiday-making peasants? At first sight, so they seemed. There were pretty girls, with sunny hair escaping from under red and blue handkerchiefs, and rustic dandies cross-gartered with gay ribands, and old women with quiet, nobly-lined faces--a village community bound for some fair or merry-making.