Ian was sitting watching the people, when the boy came up. He had a stick over his shoulder with a small bundle containing his belongings. “How long have you been in Carlisle?” asked Ian. “I have only just arrived,” said the boy. “Come along then; we must see what we can do for you. I suppose there is no likelihood of Farmer Harrington coming to look for you.” “I do not know,” said the boy, “and I do not know whether he could compel me to come back, but he might. I am an orphan and all my folk are dead. I lived with my Aunt Louisa Johnstone until she died this winter; she had no children of her own.” “Then she was really only your Uncle’s wife.” “No, she was my mother’s sister. My name is not really Johnstone, but I was always called that because I lived with her.” “What was your father’s name then?” “It was Ackroyd.” “So your real name is Wilfred Ackroyd?” “Yes.” “Then we can call you Will Ackroyd or Willie Ackroyd, and if Farmer Harrington comes asking for Wilfred Johnstone, he won’t find him.” “You are right, Master.” “Come along then, Will. I have found a carpenter called Matthew Musgrave who is actually in need of a lad, so I think we can settle that difficulty.” Matthew Musgrave was a good hearted fellow, who took kindly to the boy and the arrangement was concluded. The result was that he also began to take an interest in the stranger who had introduced him, with the final issue that James Mitchell, as we must now call Ian, who was remarkably clever with his hands, used to go round to help Matthew when he was extra busy; and gradually Matthew found him so useful that he gave him more or less regular employment. He had decided to keep to the name of James Mitchell, which was the name he had used on the Continent when he fled from England not long after Mary’s accession. Even his friends in France did not know his real name. If ever he should return to his own country he would resume it; meanwhile James Mitchell did well enough. Moreover his recent captors knew him by his real name and it might be some slight safeguard. He smiled as he remembered how he had instinctively given the children his own name. It had seemed the natural thing to do. After about a week Erskyne arrived and he was accompanied by Mortoun himself, who hoped to obtain further personal information by word of mouth, beyond that contained in the documents. “I hear you have had some sore delays, James Mitchell,” he said. “Yes, my Lord, I was imprisoned for some time in York and wounded and sick and in hiding for over two months.” “You are a Scot I understand.” “I am, my Lord.” “And of the reformed faith?” “That is so.” “We shall need the services of all good Scots if there is any fighting to be done. Can we rely upon you?” “By my troth, you may, my Lord; I shall be found here.” Ian then put the shoes on the table and they ripped them open. The contents were practically uninjured and they talked till late into the night.