“Are you going to York now?” “Well, I expect to do--after a time; but I am going to Hexham and Newcastle and Durham and shall then work my way up the Wear and down the Tees and probably up Wensley dale.” “Do you know Upper Teesdale?” “Why, yes, but it’s an out of the way place. Yet, do you know,--many of these out of the way places are my best customers. When I was last there I sold a large quantity to Master Richard Mowbray of Holwick Hall.” “You know them then?” “In a business way, yes,” said Walter. “There’s a little girl that is living there, that I know slightly,” said Ian. “What, Mistress Aline Gillespie! the bonniest child I ever saw in my life. I shall never forget that child, although I have only seen her once. ’Sdeath, man, she has the face of an angel and the soul of one too, beshrew me if she has not.” “Well, she comes from my country, although I cannot say that I have any extended acquaintance with her any more than you have.” “I am sorry for that bairn,” said Walter, lowering his voice and looking round; “she has none too happy a time with the Mowbrays. But there, it may be gossip,” he continued, as the thought occurred to him that he was not sure of his listener. “One hears such funny tales as one goes about the country; one does not know what to believe.” “You are going that way again then?” said Ian. “Yes, yes, and perchance if you know the child, you would like me to tell her that I had seen you.” “May be so; and I might send her one of your trinkets. I saw a little buckle that might take her fancy.” Walter got up and fetched the bundle and produced the buckle. “Honestly, man,” he said, “that is a more expensive class of thing than most of my stuff; but I will let you have it cheap. Yes, really cheap; I know you think I always talk like that, but I swear I am speaking true.” There was an earnestness in the man’s tone and manner that was quite unlike his usual jaunty way of talking and Ian felt he might venture to say more. “I believe you,” he said. “Well, I will buy it and send a letter with it, but promise me that no one else shall see you give it to her.” “You know the old cat too, then, do you?” said Margrove, a little off his guard. “Mistress Mowbray, you mean,” said Ian. “Well, I know about her; and in these days least said is soonest mended.” “Yes, we dwell in strange times,” the packman responded, “the land has passed through sad experiences,” and then, fearing he might have said too much, he added, “Maybe it is all right, but I have no fancy to see human flesh fry.” “Nor I either,” said Ian. “I saw them burn George Wishart, and I shall not forget that on this side of my grave.” “It’s my belief,” said Walter, “that the church does itself more harm than good by the burnings; it does not have the effect that they expect.” “I believe your sympathy is with those who are burned,” said Ian, looking at him keenly.