Suddenly Laddie stops—ears pricked—head in the air. What can he hear beside the brawling of the stream? He breaks out into an almost human cry, and rushes on in spite of Alice's distressed calls and commands that he should not leave her. She certainly hears another voice besides his, no—yes, the joyful barking of two dogs—old Chance's full deep voice and Laddie's sharp treble. Look, Laddie is coming back to meet her, trembling all over with intense excitement.
A few more painful efforts, and the young girl sinks perfectly exhausted beside her senseless brother. But she has no leisure for fainting, no time for feeling: she has stern work in hand. Is he dead or alive? That is the only thought. Chance is still laboriously licking the face and the hands of his master. Alice lays her hand on his heart, and still—yes, still—she thinks there is a feeble beating and a little sense of vital warmth. That is enough for her.
"Off, Laddie," said she earnestly to the dog, waving her hand in the direction of Scarf Beck Farm; "off, and bring them here;" pointing to his master.
The dog understood and was off. What cannot a shepherd's dog understand, when, at his master's bidding, he will hunt up, collect and bring home, a whole flock of lost and scattered sheep, without missing a single one?
The party returning from the old Man were coming along the pathway which led to Scarf Beck Farm, when Laddie saw them at a distance—dark figures on the white snow—and rushed wildly up to them, entreating them by every argument, short of speech to follow him.
"What's to do with the young dog?" said old Geordie in an excited voice. "He has found out something for sure. Look at his ways."
They hurried along after him as though he were a human guide, and before long they came, sure enough, upon that sad group in the cave-like hollow which was scooped out of the side of the great snow-drift.
"She has found him," exclaimed Mark; "thank God for that."
Alice was sitting on the snow holding her brother in her arms and clasping him tight to her warm heart. She had wound her plaid around him besides; and the old dog was still leaning against him, licking his blue hands and wrists. Alice's face was buried in her brother's hair; but at the sound of Mark's exclamation, she looked up hastily, and saying:
"Oh, Mark," burst into an agony of tears, the first she had shed. "Oh, do something to save him. I know he is not dead. I am sure I can feel his breath."