rning," I remarked, not at all averse to entering into
conversation, and already somewhat curious about him.

"A fine morning it is, master, and good weather, and likely to keep
so," he answered, glancing around at sea and sky. Then he looked
significantly at my knickerbockers and at a small satchel which I
carried over my shoulders. "The right sort o' weather," he added, "for
gentlemen walking about the country--pleasuring."

"You know these parts," I suggested.

"No!" he said, with a decisive shake of his head. "I don't, master,
and that's a fact. I'm from the south, I am--never been up this way
before, and, queerly enough, for I've seen most of the world in my
time, never sailed this here sea as lies before us. But I've a sort of
connection with this bit of country--mother's side came from
hereabouts. And me having nothing particular to do, I came down here
to take a cast round, like, seeing places as I've heard of--heard of,
you understand, but ain't never seen."

"Then you're stopping in the neighbourhood?" I asked.

He raised one of his brown, hairy hands, and jerked a thumb landwards.

"Stopped last night in a little place, inland," he answered. "Name of
Lesbury--a riverside spot. But that ain't what I want--what I want is
a churchyard, or it might be two, or it might be three, where there's
gravestones what bears a name. Only I don't know where that
churchyard--or, again, there may be more than one--is, d'ye see?
Except--somewhere between Alnmouth one way and Brandnell Bay,
t'other."

"I have a good map, if it's any use to you," I said. He took the map
with a word of thanks, and after spreading it out, traced places with
the end of his thick forefinger.

"Hereabouts we are, at this present, master," he said, "and here and
there is, to be sure, villages--mostly inland. And'll have graveyards
to 'em--folks must be laid away somewhere. And in one of them
graveyards there'll be a name, and if I see that name, I'll know where
I am, and I can ask further, aiming at to find out if any of that name
is still flourishing hereabouts. But till I get that name, I'm clear
off my course, so to speak."

"What is the name?" I asked him.

"Name of Netherfield," he answered, slowly. "Netherfield. Mother's
people--long since. So I've been told. And seen it--in old books, what
I have far away in Devonport. That's the name, right enough, only I
don't know where to look for it. You ain't seen it, master, in your
wandering