ase in his own apartment in Carlisle Castle. He had finished supper,
and was now resting in a great oak chair before a roaring fire. A
tankard of ale stood on a stool by his side (for my Lord of Scroope
loved good cheer above all things), and his favourite hound lay
stretched on the floor at his feet.

To judge by the look on his face, he was thinking pleasant thoughts just
then. He held the office of Warden of the English Marches, as well as
that of Governor of Carlisle Castle, and in those lawless days the post
was not an easy one. There was generally some raid or foray which had to
be investigated, some turbulent Scot pursued, or mayhap some noted
freebooter hung; but just at present the country-side was at peace, and
the Scotts, and Elliots, and Armstrongs, seemed to be content to stay
quietly at home on their own side of the Border.

So that very day he had sent off a good report to his royal mistress,
Queen Elizabeth, then holding her court in far-off London, and now he
was dreaming of paying a long deferred visit to his Castle of Bolton in
Lancashire.

A sharp knock at the door came as a sudden interruption to these dreams.
"Enter," he cried hastily, wondering to himself what message could have
arrived at the castle at that hour of night.

It was his own poor fool who entered, for in Carlisle Castle high state
was kept, and Lord Scroope had his jester, like any king.

The man was known to everyone as "Dick o' the Cow," the reason probably
being that his wife helped to eke out his scanty wages by keeping three
cows, and selling their milk to the honest burghers of Carlisle. He was
a harmless, light-hearted fellow, whom some men called half-witted, but
who was much cleverer than he appeared at first sight to be.

As a rule he was always laughing and making jokes, but to-night his face
was long and doleful.

"What ails thee, man?" cried Lord Scroope impatiently. "Methinks thou
hast forgot thine office, else why comest thou here with a face that
would make a merry man sad?"

"Alack, Master," answered the fool, "up till now I have been an honest
man, but at last I must turn my hand to thieving, and for that reason I
would crave thy leave to go over the Border into Liddesdale."

"Tush!" said the Warden impatiently, "I love not such jesting. I hear
enough about thieving and reiving, and such-like business, without my
very fool dinning it into my ears. Leave such matters for my Lord of
Buccleuch and me to settl