At this point everyone was suddenly "seized." Mr Sudberry and George were seized with an irresistible desire to fish; Fred was seized with a burning desire to sketch; Lucy was seized with a passionate desire to gather wild flowers; and Jacky was seized with a furious desire to wet himself and _wade with his shoes on_. He did it too, and, in the course of an hour, tumbled into so many peat-bogs, and besmeared himself with so much coffee-coloured mud, that his own mother would have failed to recognise him. He was supremely happy--so was his father. At the very first cast he, (the father), hooked a trout of half a pound weight, and lost it, too! but that was nothing. The next cast he caught one of nearly a pound. George was equally successful. Fortune smiled. Before evening began to close, both baskets were half full of splendid trout; Lucy's basket was quite full of botanical specimens; Fred's sketch was a success, and Jacky was as brown as a Hottentot from head to foot. They prepared to return home, rejoicing. Haste was needful now. A short cut round the shoulder of the ridge was recommended by George, and taken. It conducted them into a totally different gap from the one which led to their own valley. If followed out, this route would have led them to a spot ten miles distant from their Highland home; but they were in blissful ignorance of the fact. All gaps and gorges looked much the same to them. Suddenly Mr Sudberry paused:-- "Is this the way we came?" Grave looks, but no reply. "Let us ascend this ridge, and make sure that we are right." They did so, and made perfectly certain that they were wrong. Attempting to correct their mistake, they wandered more hopelessly out of their way, but it was not until the shades of night began to fall that Mr Sudberry, with a cold perspiration on his brow, expressed his serious belief that they were "lost!" STORY ONE, CHAPTER 10. LOST ON THE MOUNTAINS. Did ever the worthy London merchant, in the course of his life, approach to the verge of the region of despair, it was on that eventful night when he found himself and his family lost among the mountains of Scotland. "It's dreadful," said he, sitting down on a cold grey rock, and beginning slowly to realise the utter hopelessness of their condition. "My poor Lucy, don't be cast down," (drawing her to his breast), "after all, it will only be a night of wandering. But we _must_ keep moving. We must not venture to lie down in our wet clothes. We must not even rest long at a time, lest a chill should come upon you." "But I'm quite warm, papa, and only a very little tired. I could walk for miles yet." She said this cheerily, but she could not help looking anxious. The night was so dark, however, that no one could see her looks. "Do let me go off alone, father," urged George; "I am as fresh as possible, and could run over the hills until I should fall in with--"