"Mary," said her mother sternly, "it’s time to milk the kye. Gang awa tae your duty, and if he’s no’ hame by the time the parritch is ready, ye can gang an’ look for him; but meantime, control yersel’." "Oh, mither," she sobbed, "it’s faither. He may ha’e slipped and broken his leg, or he may ha’e fallen into a bog. Mither, mither!" and she clasped her hands nervously, "we maun dae something. We canna’ bide like this, an’ no’ ken." I sought to comfort her with gentle words. Of that loathly dread which lay most heavily upon our hearts, not one of us spoke. Mary, her heart on fire, had spoken for us all, but her-mother did not allow her anxiety to shake her firm common-sense. "A’ that ye say may be true, lassie," she said, "but ye’ll no’ be as weel able to look for your faither if ye gang withoot your parritch. Get the kye milket, and when ye’ve had your breakfast, if Andra is no’ back, ye’d better gang and look for him." *CHAPTER XXIII* *THE SEARCH* During the morning meal we discussed what was to be done. None of us knew to which hiding-place Andrew had taken the fugitive. There were, however, two possibilities; he might have taken him to a remote corner of the moor which Mary knew, whither, on occasion, she had aforetime borne food to some hidden fugitive. I had never been to this hiding-place, but I knew the way to the hill-top where my own retreat had been. In the end, we decided that Jean should remain at Daldowie, while Mary made her way across the moor to the one hiding-place and I went to the other. Jean would fain have joined in the search, but we made her see the wisdom of remaining at the farm. "I suppose you’re richt," she said, "but it’s dreary wark sittin’ idle." I seized my stick, Mary threw her plaid over her shoulders, and together we were about to set out, when Jean spoke suddenly. "Can ye cry like a whaup?" she asked, addressing herself to me. "Yes," said Mary, "I had forgotten; that is the sign--three whaup calls and a pause while you can count ten, then twa whaup calls and a pause again, then three whaup calls aince mair. That," she said, "is a signal that we settled on long ago," and pursing her mouth she gave a whaup call so clear and true that it might have come from the throat of a bird. "Yes," I said, "I can cry like a whaup. But when am I to use the signal?" "You had best try it every now and then; for somewhere on the way it may reach the ears of Andra. He’ll ken it an’ answer ye in the same way, and ye’ll ken you’ve found him." Mary took her mother in her arms and kissed her. If she had been given to tears I know that her eyes would have brimmed over then; but the brave old woman bore herself stoutly. "Ye’ll tak’ care o’ yoursels, bairns," she said, "and even if ye shouldna find Andra, be sure to come back afore nicht. If you dinna meet him on the hills, you’ll likely find him at his ain fireside when ye get back again."