“I suppose it is,” said Paul.  “I never thowt of it.  I never knew anybody of that name afore.”

Here was another sign and token of romantic origin suddenly revealed.  Paul felt the thrill of it.  He resisted a temptation to ask his new friend whether it was an appellation generally reserved for princes.

“Look here, joking apart,” said the artist, putting in the waves of the thick black hair, “are you really going to be dumped down in London to seek your fortune?  Don’t you know anybody there?”

“No,” said Paul.

“How are you going to live?”

Paul dived a hand into his breeches pocket and jingled coins.  “I’ve got th’ brass,” said he.

“How much?”

“Three shillings and sevenpence-ha’penny,” said Paul, with an opulent air.  “And yo’r shilling will make it four and sevenpence-ha’penny.”

“Good God!” said-the young man.  He went on drawing for some time in silence.  Then he said:  “My brother is a painter—­rather a swell—­ a Royal Academician.  He would love to paint you.  So would other fellows.  You could easily earn your living as a model—­doing as a business, you know, what you’re doing now for fun, more or less.”

“How much could I earn?”

“It all depends.  Say a pound to thirty shillings a week.”

Paul gasped and sat paralyzed.  Artist, dusty road, gaudy van, distant cornfields and uplands were blotted from his senses.  The cool waves of Pactolus lapped his feet.

“Come and look me up when you get to London,” continued the friendly voice.  “My name is Rowlatt-W.  W. Rowlatt, 4, Gray’s Inn Square.  Can you remember it?”

“Ay,” said Paul.

“Shall I write it down?”

“Nay.  ‘W.  W. Rowlatt, 4, Gray’s Inn Square.’  I’m noan likely to forget it.  I never forget nowt,” said Paul, life returning through a vein of boastfulness.

“Tell me all you remember,” said Mr. Rowlatt, with a laugh.

“I can say all the Kings of England, with their dates, and the counties and chief towns of Great Britain and Ireland, and all the weights and measures, and ’The Assyrian came down like a wolf on the fold—­’”

“Holy Moses!” cried Rowlatt.  “Anything else?”

“Ay.  Lots more,” said Paul, anxious to stamp vividly the impression he saw that he was making.  “I know the Plagues of Egypt.”

“I bet you don’t.”

“Rivers of Blood, Frogs, Lice, Flies, Murrain, Boils, Hails, Locusts, Darkness and Death of Firstborn,” said Paul, in a breath.

“Jehosaphat!” cried Rowlatt.  “I suppose now you’d have no difficulty in reciting the Thirty-nine Articles.”

Paul puckered his forehead in thought.  “D’yo’ mean,” he asked after a pause, “the Thirty-nine Articles o’ Religion, as is in th’ Prayerbuk?  I ha’ tried to read ’em, but couldno’ understand ’em reet.”

Rowlatt, who had not expected his facetious query to be so answered, stopped his drawing for a moment.  “What in the name of goodness attracted you to the Thirty-nine Articles?”