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MacDonald, George, 1824-1905

"Ranald Bannerman's Boyhood"

"
"Please let me go too," I said.
"Are you able to walk?"
"Quite--or at least I shall be, after my legs come to themselves a
bit."
Turkey produced a bottle of milk which he had brought for me, and
Andrew produced the little flask of whisky which Kirsty had sent; and
my father having taken a little of the latter, while I emptied my
bottle, we set out to look for young Missy.
"Where are we?" asked my father.
Turkey told him.
"How comes it that nobody heard our shouting, then?"
"You know, sir," answered Turkey, "the old man is as deaf as a post,
and I dare say his people were all fast asleep."
The snow was falling only in a few large flakes now, which sank
through the air like the moultings of some lovely bird of heaven. The
moon had come out again, and the white world lay around us in lovely
light. A good deal of snow had fallen while we lay in the peats, but
we could yet trace the track of the two horses. We followed it a long
way through the little valley into which we had dropped from the side
of the road. We came to more places than one where they had been
floundering together in a snow-wreath, but at length reached the spot
where one had parted from the other. When we had traced one of the
tracks to the road, we concluded it was Missy's, and returned to the
other. But we had not followed it very far before we came upon the
poor mare lying upon her back in a deep runnel, in which the snow was
very soft.


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