“Noticed what?” asked Ian.
“Oh, just noticed that it is so,” and by way of changing the subject she went on,—“but there is one thing I should mind;—I should mind having to cut my hair short.”
Ian sighed: “Yes, you must not do that, little one, we must think of some other plan.”
“But I have quite made up my mind and I am going to cut it,” she said in her most queenly manner. She said it so firmly and cheerfully that even Ian did not realise the struggle that was going on in the little heart.
“Well, princess, if it must be so, it must; but you need not cut it above the shoulders. Many pages wear it down to the shoulders.”
“Pages, yes, but not carpenters’ boys.” At the same time Ian’s words gave her a gleam of comfort. That was not quite so terrible. It would have a good start as soon as she could let it grow again. “Do you think a carpenter’s boy could wear it down to his shoulders?” she asked wistfully.
“Certainly,” said Ian; “it might be a little peculiar, but if we could afford to dress you a little more like a page though you were a carpenter’s boy, I doubt even if any one would notice.”
They had reached Longtown by this time, but Ian decided not to stop if they could get safely over the border. They rode on, therefore, until they met a small patrol near Canonbie but were allowed after a few explanations to pass.
At the little inn they made enquiry as to the news of the day. This was surprising, but to Ian by no means altogether unexpected. The Protestant feeling had been growing and some of the Protestant leaders had met at the house of James Sym in Edinburgh and signed the first covenant, called the “Godlie Band.” They were the Earl of Ergyl; Glencarn,—the good Earl; Mortoun; Archibald, Lord of Lorne and John Erskyne of Doun.[26]