The two fugitives waited fearfully lest it should raise the alarm, but nothing further broke the silence of the night.
As they walked, dripping, to the hostel, Ian said,—“I wish you were not wet, but who would have thought of this? What shall we do?” They climbed through the window and Wilfred shivered violently, partly with cold and partly with excitement.
“I shall leave the bed on the floor,” Ian said. “Come, let us get off your clothes.” He stripped the boy, rubbed him down with a dry towel and put him into bed. The friction started a warm glow and he was soon all right. Wilfred asked for his precious packet and while Ian was busy wringing out their clothes he opened it and dried the contents and put it under his pillow.
At four o’clock Ian woke him. “I am so sorry about the wet things, but you must make for Carlisle at once as best you may.”
“Never mind, I am warm again now, and used often to be wet through all day, when I was with the sheep.”
After Wilfred had gone, Ian replaced both ropes and put the bed right. He stayed in Kirkoswald till nearly evening so as not to attract attention, and for the same reason went on to Penrith and returned by the other road to Carlisle the following day.
He overheard a little of the gossip about the boy’s escape. The most popular belief was that he had flown out of the window with the devil. Those who prided themselves on their superior intellects said that some one had obviously opened the door and hidden him in their house, just as they had clearly done at his first disappearance. An orphan boy, however, was not of much value one way or the other, and the thing as a practical question was a nine days’ wonder; although a favourite topic of gossip, relating to things mysterious, for many a long day.