The story of Wandering Willie

by Lady Augusta Noel

The night passed on. The moon set, and the hours of great darkness that came before the dawn had stolen upon them.

At last there came a shout from those a little way in front. The others hurried up. They had found footmarks in the snow. For a little time they followed them clearly; then they failed, for the wind had blown the snow wildly about, and had effaced them.

They dispersed once more, and searched eagerly and silently. By and by one of them called again. The footmark was found, and they never quite lost it afterwards. Sometimes it went straight forward for a little way, then it turned back over almost the same ground. Once or twice the steps crossed and recrossed each other. Often, from the marks in the snow, it seemed as if some one had stood still and waited, and turned this way and that, searching for the road.

Then they stood still too and shouted, calling the lost man's name. Again, and yet again. Strong men as they were, they shivered at the dead blank silence that was their only answer. No echo even, sent them back their voices.

The dawn was coming now, grey and chill, and there was a dull light on the snow. They began to see each other's anxious faces. Still they carried the lanterns low before them, and their great shadows followed weird behind.

The red lantern-light fell on the frozen foot-prints, one by one. They were easy to follow by this time. It must have ceased snowing before they were made, and the wind, too, must have gone down. They were deep and wavering now, as of one who walked heavily, dragging his steps wearily through the snow.

A little way off there was a hollow in the moor, a broken ridge of crags, and a huge stone, round one side of which the snow had drifted thickly. The footsteps ended there.

When the men reached the stone they stood still, but they raised no shout, though their search was over. Why was it that the voices which had been strained so often to reach the lost man's ears, were sunk to a low whisper now, that would not have roused a sleeping child?

Wandering Willie lay at their feet, his head resting on the snow-covered stone. One hand was underneath his head, the other had fallen by his side, and the staff lay close to it, just as the tired hand had laid it down.

They tried gently to raise that arm, but it was quite stiff, frozen into the snow. They laid their hands softly upon his heart, and it was perfectly still. Then they let the full light from the lanterns fall upon his face, and they saw that the old man looked utterly peaceful, nay, almost smiling, and that his eyes were closed.