It was long before Willie appeared in that part of the country again; but, about six months after, some neighbours who had been to a fair twenty miles off, told my father that they had seen him looking much as usual, and playing his pipes with more energy than ever. This was a great relief to my father, who could not bear the idea of the poor fellow’s loneliness without his pipes, and had wanted very much to get them repaired for him. But ever after my father showed a great regard for Turkey. I heard him say once that, if he had had the chance, Turkey would have made a great general. That he should be judged capable of so much, was not surprising to me; yet he became in consequence a still greater being in my eyes. When I set Davie down, and fell myself on the grass, there was nobody near. Everyone was engaged in a new search for Davie. My father had rode off at once without dismounting, to inquire at the neighbouring toll-gate whether Willie had passed through. It was not very likely, for such wanderers seldom take to the hard high road; but he could think of nothing else, and it was better to do something. Having failed there, he had returned and ridden along the country road which passed the farm towards the hills, leaving Willie and Davie far behind him. It was twilight before he returned. How long, therefore, I lay upon the grass, I do not know. When I came to myself, I found a sharp pain in my side. Turn how I would, there it was, and I could draw but a very short breath for it. I was in my father’s bed, and there was no one in the room. I lay for some time in increasing pain; but in a little while my father came in, and then I felt that all was as it should be. Seeing me awake, he approached with an anxious face. “Is Davie all right, father?” I asked. “He is quite well, Ranald, my boy. How do you feel yourself now?” “I’ve been asleep, father?” “Yes; we found you on the grass, with Davie pulling at you and trying to wake you, crying, ‘Yanal won’t peak to me. Yanal! Yanal!’ I am afraid you had a terrible run with him. Turkey, as you call him, told me all about it. He’s a fine lad Turkey!” “Indeed he is, father!” I cried with a gasp which betrayed my suffering. “What is the matter, my boy?” he asked. “Lift me up a little, please,” I said, “I have _such_ a pain in my side!” “Ah!” he said, “it catches your breath. We must send for the old doctor.” The old doctor was a sort of demigod in the place. Everybody believed and trusted in him; and nobody could die in peace without him any more than without my father. I was delighted at the thought of being his patient. I think I see him now standing with his back to the fire, and taking his lancet from his pocket, while preparations were being made for bleeding me at the arm, which was a far commoner operation then than it is now.