When he got to a cottage he went to the door and asked for a drink of water. There was something wonderfully appealing in his dark eyes, and he usually received either a hunch of bread or a big glass of milk instead, so that although he had no money he did not starve, and as the first night was a warm one he lay down under the shelter of a great hayrick, burrowing a little way into it, and so escaping the worst of the cold and chill. Early in the morning he got up and walked on again, and thus he continued, journeying by easy stages, receiving food from time to time from the cottagers, and attracting little or no attention for two days. He had really at last crossed the borders and was in Devonshire. He was footsore and weary, and Devonshire was a big place, and he had not the least idea in what part of it Pelham Towers was situated. It occurred to him early on the morning of the third day that he must do something more. His boots were much worn with walking, and his dress untidy. His knees were torn from some thorns, and his face had lost its color; his eyes, too, had a strained and anxious expression. He began to see his home in his dreams. He began to dream when he walked as well as when he lay down; he was very anxious indeed. The longing to see his mother and Barbara grew keener and keener. He had never realized before that walking was so tiring. It seemed hard that he should have to walk and be so hungry when he was in reality such a rich little boy—a king in his way—with five big places of his own. As he was thinking these thoughts in the early morning he saw a gentleman coming towards him in a gig. The gentleman had red whiskers and a red face. He was a stout personage, and he was driving a chestnut cob with a firm hand. “Please stop!” said Piers, running into the middle of the road and holding up his own thin hand to arrest attention. The child had suddenly made up his mind to ask the gentleman to help him. Now it so happened that this man, a certain Squire Furzby, had been reading the account of the magistrate’s inquiry into the strange case of Sir Richard Pelham. He had been reading it with great interest, for, of course, he knew the Pelhams of Pelham Towers well. “Please stop!” called little Piers. The gentleman drew up his horse and said “Hullo!” “Is this Devonshire, please?” asked Piers. “You ought to know that, my little man. You were born here, I make no doubt.” “It is quite true, I was born in Devonshire,” replied Piers. “But I have come from Cornwall. I have walked a very long way.” “What a queer little chap! Can I do anything for you?” Piers gazed earnestly up at Squire Furzby. “May I speak to you as one gentleman to another?” he asked. The Squire gazed hard at the battered and much dilapidated little apparition in the road. “As one gentleman to another? Yes, certainly,” he said.