ecompense. The brave and industrious find
many a blessing."

For to a Scottish woman few things would seem more dreadful than for
her mother to come to want--the tie of relationship is so strong and
sacred.

Talking in this sober fashion, the farmer and his neighbour jogged on
until they reached the skirts of the moor, soon after six o'clock.

"We've escaped the rain," said the farmer; "but to all appearance, it
won't hold off much longer."

Presently Mrs. McDougall alighted, and with a few words of thanks,
turned up the pathway leading to her own cottage. To her surprise,
she found grannie and Robbie standing at the gate, peering along the
road.

"Am I late?" she exclaimed. "You weren't thinking I was lost, were
you?"

"It's the bairns we were looking for," quavered the old woman.
"They're not home from school yet, an' there's no milk for your
supper, for I would no trust Robbie alone."

"Of course not," Mrs. McDougall said, hastily; "but they should ha'
been home long ago. They would not loiter on the way all this time,
surely."

"That's what I've been thinking," the old woman returned. "Could any
harm come to them?"

"Of course it could. Ye need not doubt that," said Mrs. McDougall. "I
must go right away, and see after them; but I am just tired, and
that's the truth."

"You'll sit down, Meg, and have a bit o' something first," the old
woman said anxiously, hovering round in speechless sympathy.

"No, no; I'll just go at once," Mrs. McDougall returned, setting down
her baskets.

She tramped off quickly along the dusty road in the direction of
Dunster. Presently some great drops of rain began to fall, and in a
few minutes it came down in a perfect torrent. Still she trudged on,
her heart filled with dim foreboding fears. Such a thing had never
happened before. It would soon be getting dark. Could it be possible
they had kept the children at school as a punishment? If so, it was
shameful to leave them to come along that lonely road at such an
hour, and she would not use mild words in telling them so.

At last she arrived at the school-house. It was closed and dark. She
knocked at the mistress's cottage, and then learnt, to her horror and
dismay, that the children had never been to school at all that day.

The poor creature stood for a moment in utter bewilderment.

What was the next thing to be done? Ah! that was a difficulty indeed.

It was not far to the village. She would go there, and inquire o