“True, true!” the Professor replied. “That’s _the_ Problem, no doubt. Viewed _as_ a Problem, outside of oneself, it is a _most_ interesting one. Viewed as a portion of one’s own biography, it is, I must admit, very distressing!” He groaned, but instantly added, with a chuckle, “As to _myself_, I think you mentioned that I am——” “Oo’re the _Professor_!” Bruno shouted in his ear. “Didn’t oo know _that_? Oo’ve come from _Outland_! And it’s _ever_ so far away from here!” The Professor leapt to his feet with the agility of a boy. “Then there’s no time to lose!” he exclaimed anxiously. “I’ll just ask this guileless peasant, with his brace of buckets that contain (apparently) water, if he’ll be so kind as to direct us. Guileless peasant!” he proceeded in a louder voice. “Would you tell us the way to Outland?” The guileless peasant turned with a sheepish grin. “Hey?” was all he said. “The—way—to—Outland!” the Professor repeated. The guileless peasant set down his buckets and considered. “Ah dunnot——” “I ought to mention,” the Professor hastily put in, “that whatever you say will be used in evidence against you.” The guileless peasant instantly resumed his buckets. “Then ah says nowt!” he answered briskly, and walked away at a great pace. The children gazed sadly at the rapidly vanishing figure. “He goes very quick!” the Professor said with a sigh. “But I _know_ that was the right thing to say. I’ve studied your English Laws. However, let’s ask this next man that’s coming. He is _not_ guileless, and he is _not_ a peasant—but I don’t know that either point is of vital importance.” It was, in fact, the Honourable Eric Lindon, who had apparently fulfilled his task of escorting Lady Muriel home, and was now strolling leisurely up and down the road outside the house, enjoying a solitary cigar. “Might I trouble you, Sir, to tell us the nearest way to Outland!” Oddity as he was, in outward appearance, the Professor was, in that essential nature which no outward disguise could conceal, a thorough gentleman. And, as such, Eric Lindon accepted him instantly. He took the cigar from his mouth, and delicately shook off the ash, while he considered. “The name sounds strange to me,” he said. “I doubt if I can help you.” “It is not _very_ far from _Fairyland_,” the Professor suggested. Eric Lindon’s eye-brows were slightly raised at these words, and an amused smile, which he courteously tried to repress, flitted across his handsome face. “A trifle _cracked_!” he muttered to himself. “But what a jolly old patriarch it is!” Then he turned to the children. “And ca’n’t _you_ help him, little folk?” he said, with a gentleness of tone that seemed to win their hearts at once. “Surely _you_ know all about it? ‘How many miles to Babylon? Three-score miles and ten. Can I get there by candlelight? Yes, and back again!’”