pected to
discover. Putting Charlie down to follow at her heels, she walked
quickly across the intervening breadth of moor to the highroad, and
there paused, looking up and down its dusty length, hoping against hope
that she might see David somewhere trudging slowly along on his lonely
way, but there was not a human creature visible. Charlie, assuming a
highly vigilant attitude, cocked his tiny ears and sniffed the air
suspiciously, as though he scented the trail of his lost master, but no
clue presented itself as likely to serve the purpose of tracking the way
in which he had gone. Moved by a sudden loneliness and despondency, Mary
slowly returned to the cottage, carrying the little dog in her arms, and
was affected to tears again when she entered the kitchen, because it
looked so empty. The bent figure, the patient aged face, on which for
her there was ever a smile of grateful tenderness--these had composed a
picture by her fireside to which she had grown affectionately
accustomed,--and to see it no longer there made her feel almost
desolate. She lit the fire listlessly and prepared her own breakfast
without interest--it was a solitary meal and lacked flavour. She was
glad when, after breakfast, Angus Reay came in, as was now his custom,
to say good-morning, and to "gain inspiration,"--so he told her,--for
his day's work. He was no less astonished than herself at David's sudden
departure.

"Poor old chap! I believe he thinks he is in our way, Mary!" he said, as
he read the letter of explanation which their missing friend had left
behind him. "And yet he says quite plainly here that he will be back
before Sunday. Perhaps he will. But where can he have gone to?"

"Not far, surely!" and Mary looked, as she felt, perplexed. "He has no
money!"

"Not a penny?"

"Not a penny! He makes me take everything he earns to help pay for his
keep and as something towards the cost of his illness last year. I don't
want it--but it pleases him that I should have it----"

"Of course--I understand that,"--and Angus slipped an arm round her
waist, while he read the letter through again. "But if he hasn't a
penny, how can he get along?"

"He must be on the tramp again," said Mary. "But he isn't strong enough
to tramp. I went up the coombe this morning and right out to the
highroad, for I thought I might see him and catch up with him--because I
know it would take him ever so long to walk a mile. But he had gone
altogether."

Reay st