“No, sir. She’s not made her appearance.”
“Then if we don’t find her, she will be dead before morning. But what shall we do with you, Ranald? Turkey had better go home with you first.”
“Please let me go too,” I said.
“Are you able to walk?”
“Quite—or at least I shall be, after my legs come to themselves a bit.”
Turkey produced a bottle of milk which he had brought for me, and Andrew produced the little flask of whisky which Kirsty had sent; and my father having taken a little of the latter, while I emptied my bottle, we set out to look for young Missy.
“Where are we?” asked my father.
Turkey told him.
“How comes it that nobody heard our shouting, then?”
“You know, sir,” answered Turkey, “the old man is as deaf as a post, and I dare say his people were all fast asleep.”