"Have you a warm cloak, master trader, that may serve to keep the snow and rain from my shoulders this cold Christmas?" The man looked rather suspiciously at the boys’ tattered garments, but a glance at their faces changed his tone to one of respect and pity. "The Lord save you, young masters, it is truly but sorry weather to travel in. Will ye not step in and rest a bit?" "I thank you, Philip Naseby," said Geoffrey, stepping within the shop; "the Lord is truly my help all the day long." The trader’s face lighted up as he gave the necessary answer to the password, and grasping a hand of each, he led them to a little back-apartment, and placed stools for them. He received them as eagerly as though they were his nearest relations, though as yet he knew neither their name nor their errand. Lord Cobham’s message explained all, and then they were overwhelmed with questions. Good news always makes the bearers welcome, and the fact that they brought intelligence of Lord Cobham’s escape, as well as their father’s name, was a full passport to the honest trader’s heart. He called his wife, and having told her who were their guests, she dispatched their daughter to bring some refreshment, while she and her husband removed their torn and soaked outer garments. "Poor boy!" said the good woman, as she noticed Hubert’s bleeding and blistered feet, "thou hast walked far to day?" "A good twenty miles since midnight," sighed the weary child, the very mention of the distance bringing back, with redoubled force, the memory of suffering. "But why did you not stop at the house of good Mark Catliffe, the miller of Lianton? He has given a bed and a welcome to many a weary traveler, and especially to those who love the Master." Hubert’s face grew very sad, but Geoffrey’s eyes flashed with indignation, and he answered before his brother could speak. "He is a Judas; he hath sold his faith for silver; the Lord requite him!" "How! sayest thou that Mark Catliffe is a renegade?" said the trader, astonished. "Ay, that he hath returned to the bosom of the holy church"--and the boy’s mouth curled with contempt--"and has received as a reward for informing where the vile traitor, John Beverly, might be found, the right to levy a large toll on the flour he grinds, and a good chest of white money beside. He saith that it is his firm hope, that those arch-traitors, Lord Cobham and John De Forest, will speedily be taken and committed to the flames, their ashes being scattered to the winds, and their souls sent to their father, the Devil; always praying the saints that he may stand by and see." The trader lifted up his hands and eyes in horror; but before he could speak, his wife had asked eagerly: "And how escaped ye, my young masters? Did he not try to deliver you up also?"