“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.