Returning from the taproom to announce his intention of waiting for the coach, Robbie was invited to the fire in the kitchen,—­a privilege for which the extreme coldness of the day was understood to account.  Here he lit a pipe, and discoursed on the route that would probably be pursued by his friends.

It was obvious that Ralph and Sim had not taken the direct road home to Wythburn, for if they had done so he must have met them as he came from Staveley.  There was the bare possibility that he had missed them by going round the fields to the old woman’s cottage; but this seemed unlikely.

“Are you quite sure it’s an old man you’re after?” said the girl, with a dig of emphasis that was meant to insinuate a doubt of Robbie’s eagerness to take so much trouble in running after anything less enticing than one of another sex who might not be old.

Robbie protested on his honor that he was never known to run after young women,—­a statement which did not appear to find a very ready acceptance.  The girl was coming and going from the kitchen in the discharge of her duties, and on one of her journeys she brought a parchment map in her hand, saying:  “Here’s a paper that Jim, the driver, told me to show you.  It gives all the roads atween Kendal and Carlisle.  So you may see for yourself whether your friends could get round about to Wy’bern.”

Robbie spread out the map on the kitchen table, and at once proceeded, with the help of the chambermaid, to trace out the roads that were open to Ralph and Sim to take.  It was a labyrinthine web, that map, and it taxed the utmost ingenuity of both Robbie and his little acquaintance to make head or tail of it.

“Here you are,” cried Robbie, with the air of a man making a valuable discovery, “here’s the milestones—­one, two, three—­them’s milestones, thou knows.”

“Tut, you goose; that’s only the scale,” said the girl; “see what’s printed, ‘Scale of miles.’”

“Oh, ey, lass,” said Robbie, not feeling sure what “scale” might mean, but too shrewd to betray his ignorance a second time in the presence of this learned chambermaid.

The riddle, nevertheless, defied solution.  However much they pored over the map, it was still a maze of lines.

“It’s as widderful as poor old Sim’s face,” said Robbie.

Robbie and the chambermaid put their heads together in more senses than one.  The map was most inconveniently small.  Two folks could not consult it at the same time without coming into really uncomfortable proximity.

“There you are,” said Robbie, reaching over, pipe in hand, to where the girl was intent on some minute point.

Suddenly there was a cloud of smoke over the map.  It also enveloped the students of geography.  Then, somehow, there was a sly smack of lips.

“And there you are,” said the girl, with a roguish laugh, as she brought Robbie a great whang over the ear and shot away.