Enoch might answer, Yes, I am from Europe, where a boy addresses an old man as “sir,” if he addresses him at all. But he cannot get past the odd nomenclature. “Europe,” he repeats, “is that what you name it here? Most people there say Christendom.”

“But we have Christians here.”

“So this is Christendom, you are saying,” says Enoch, “but, obviously to you, I’ve come from somewhere else. Perhaps Europe is the better term, now that you mention it. Hmm.”

“What do other people call it?”

“Do I look like a schoolmaster to you?”

“No, but you talk like one.”

“You know something of schoolmasters, do you?”

“Yes, sir,” the boy says, faltering a bit as he sees the jaws of the trap swinging toward his leg.

“Yet here it is the middle of Monday-”

“The place was empty ’cause of the Hanging. I didn’t want to stay and-”

“And what?”

“Get more ahead of the others than I was already.”

“If you are ahead, the correct thing is to get used to it -not to make yourself into an imbecile. Come, you belong in school.”

“School is where one learns,” says the boy. “If you’d be so kind as to answer my question, sir, then I should be learning something, which would mean I were in school.”

The boy is obviously dangerous. So Enoch decides to accept the proposition. “You may address me as Mr. Root. And you are-?”

“Ben. Son of Josiah. The tallow-chandler. Why do you laugh, Mr. Root?”

“Because in most parts of Christendom-or Europe-tallow-chandlers’ sons do not go to grammar school.