“’Od, I was unco keen,” said David, “to finish this bit lea, and had nae notion it was sae far in the day.”
“Preserve us!” exclaimed Matty, “gif anything has happened to them!”
“Nonsense,” cried David, “when there’s three o’ them thegither; but, here,” says he, “tak ye the beasts hame, and I’se be off, and will soon be back wi’ them; sae dinna vex yoursel.”
“I hope it may be sae,” said Matty, “but my heart misgies me sair—however, dinna wait to speak about it.”
David Williams was not long of reaching the school, where he learned from the mistress, that his children had remained a good while after the rest, expecting him to come for them; but that they had at length set out to meet him, as she understood, and that they had been gone above an hour, and she thought they would have been home long ago. “But, perhaps,” continued she, “they may have called in at their aunt’s, for I heard them speaking of her to-day.”
David took a hasty leave, and posted away to his sister’s, but the children had not been there, nor had any one seen them. His brother-in-law, John Maxwell, seeing his distress, proposed taking one road, while David took the other, towards home, and to meet at the corner of the planting near his house. They did so, and arrived nearly at the same time, and each without having heard or seen anything of the children. David Williams was now in a perfect agony, and the perspiration ran like water from his forehead.
“Maybe they’re hame already,” said his brother-in-law; “I daurna gang up mysel to speir, bit we’ll send yon herd laddie.”
John went, and gave the boy his directions to ask, first, if David Williams was at hame, and then to ask, cannie-like, if the weans were in. He then sat down beside David, keeping his eye on the cottage, when he sees Matty come fleeing out like one distracted.
“Down, David! down wi’ your head, man,” cried John, “that she mayna see us.” But Matty had got a glimpse of them, and came right down on them as fast as she could run.
“Whaur’s my bairns, David?” cried she; “whaur’s our bonnie bairns? I kent weel, whenever the callant askit if they were come hame, what was the meaning o’t. They’re lost, they’re lost!” continued the poor woman, wringing her hands, “and what’ll become o’ me?”