Nothing happened. “Do I dismount, and open it for myself?” enquired the Captain. “No, I’ll be damned if I do! Gate, I say! Gate! Turn out, there, and be quick about it!”

The door in the centre of the gatehouse opened a little way, and a feeble glimmer of lantern light was cast across the road. “Well, come along!” said the Captain impatiently. “Open up, man!”

After a moment’s hesitation, this summons was obeyed. The gatekeeper came out into the road, and revealed himself, in the light of the lantern he carried, to be of diminutive stature. The Captain, looking down at him in some surprise, as he stood fumbling with the gate-tickets, discovered him to be a skinny urchin, certainly not more than thirteen years old, and probably less. The lantern’s glow revealed a scared young face, freckled, and slightly tear-stained.

He said: “Hallo, what’s this? Are you the gatekeeper?”

“N-no, sir. Me dad is,” responded the youth, with a gulp.

“Well, where is your dad?”

Another gulp. “I dunno.” A ticket was held up. “Frippence, please, your honour, an’ it opens the next two gates.”

But the Captain’s besetting sin, a strong predilection for exploring the unusual, had taken possession of him. He disregarded the ticket, and said: “Did your dad leave you to mind the gate for him?”

“Yes sir,” acknowledged the youth, with a somewhat watery sniff. “Please, sir, it’s frippence, and——”

“Opens the next two gates,” supplied the Captain. “What’s your name?”

“Ben,” replied the youth.

“Where does this road lead to? Sheffield?”

After consideration, Ben said that it did.

“How far?” asked the Captain.

“I dunno. Ten miles, I dessay. Please, sir——”

“As much as that! The devil!”

“It might be twelve, p’raps. I dunno. But the ticket’s frippence, please, sir.”