their own house, that she missed the wee lassie. Peggy knew that her
father and mother, together with all her elders in the family, had
already started for the barn--some to help in the preparations, others
to chat with those who were assembling outside. It was growing dark,
for the children had delayed their homeward journey (as they often will
when a number are together) to play and sport.

There was no one to advise or help the child. Sending on
three-year-old Elsie and the other little ones in charge of Johnnie,
she ran back, half distracted, toward the hill they had left earlier in
the afternoon. Shouting out for Jessie by name, she wandered hither
and thither--terrified, self-accusing, disconsolate. But it was all to
no purpose. Darkness fell, and fearful and contrite, Peggy had no
resource but to seek her mother.

There was no more merriment that night. A search party was at once
organized by the younger men, who started with lanterns and some of
their collies to the peat-moss. All that night the anxious mother kept
weary vigil, while the men-folk searched the hill. Day broke, and no
trace had been found of the lost child. Weary and sad, the men
returned for some needful rest and others took their places. But
though they traversed the moors all day, and searched crevices and
water-courses with diligence, they met with no better success.
Sometimes a sound would break through the stillness which would stir
their hearts with renewed hope. The cry of a child! Weak and faint,
indeed, but telling of the continuance of life! But again and again,
after scaling heights or creeping down comes, they were doomed to
disappointment. It was but the bleat of a strayed lamb! That night a
larger party set out with lanterns and torches, and once more ranged
the hills shouting for the child; but once again morning dawned upon