“The year three,” indeed; and XIX. xii. 29, in Roman and Arabic characters!  There were no such characters when he was in Erewhon before.  It flashed upon him that he had repeatedly shewn them to the Nosnibors, and had once even written them down.  It could not be that . . .  No, it was impossible; and yet there was the European dress, aimed at by the one Professor, and attained by the other.  Again “XIX.” what was that? “xii.” might do for December, but it was now the 4th of December not the 29th.  “Afforested” too?  Then that was why he had seen no sheep tracks.  And how about the quails he had so innocently killed?  What would have happened if he had tried to sell them in Coldharbour?  What other like fatal error might he not ignorantly commit?  And why had Coldharbour become Sunchildston?

These thoughts raced through my poor father’s brain as he slowly perused the paper handed to him by the Professors.  To give himself time he feigned to be a poor scholar, but when he had delayed as long as he dared, he returned it to the one who had given it him.  Without changing a muscle he said—­

“Your permit, sir, is quite regular.  You can either stay here the night or go on to Sunchildston as you think fit.  May I ask which of you two gentlemen is Professor Hanky, and which Professor Panky?”

“My name is Panky,” said the one who had the watch, who wore his clothes reversed, and who had thought my father might be a poacher.

“And mine Hanky,” said the other.

“What do you think, Panky,” he added, turning to his brother Professor, “had we not better stay here till sunrise?  We are both of us tired, and this fellow can make us a good fire.  It is very dark, and there will be no moon this two hours.  We are hungry, but we can hold out till we get to Sunchildston; it cannot be more than eight or nine miles further down.”

Panky assented, but then, turning sharply to my father, he said, “My man, what are you doing in the forbidden dress?  Why are you not in ranger’s uniform, and what is the meaning of all those quails?” For his seedling idea that my father was in reality a poacher was doing its best to grow.

Quick as thought my father answered, “The Head Ranger sent me a message this morning to deliver him three dozen quails at Sunchildston by to-morrow afternoon.  As for the dress, we can run the quails down quicker in it, and he says nothing to us so long as we only wear out old clothes and put on our uniforms before we near the town.  My uniform is in the ranger’s shelter an hour and a half higher up the valley.”

“See what comes,” said Panky, “of having a whippersnapper not yet twenty years old in the responsible post of Head Ranger.  As for this fellow, he may be speaking the truth, but I distrust him.”

“The man is all right, Panky,” said Hanky, “and seems to be a decent fellow enough.”  Then to my father, “How many brace have you got?” And he looked at them a little wistfully.