ahint her, had poued tae the door.
She rase and gaed oot on the landin. The wee daftie was turnin the corner ο the stair. Mary cried doun efter her.
‘Whaur hae ye been? Hae ye been up here?’
The wee daftie turnt roun, a queer frichtent look on her face.
‘I was told to put coal on the fire.’
‘What wey did ye no, then?’
‘You were asleep.’
‘Sort the fire nou, then. Is the tea ready?’
‘Yes.’
Mary gaed back and had a look at the bairn. It was sleepin soun. The wee daftie stertit to the fire. Mary stude watchin her, waitin for her to feenish.
‘Hurry up, will ye, and win awa doun.’
The daftie feenished wi the fire and left. Mary had anither look at the bairn. There was nocht to gar her fash. It was still sleepin soun. She left and gaed awa doun for her tea.
In the kitchen the shutters were tae and the lamp was lichtit, and the table was laden. There were fower kinds ο jam, a beylt ham, a muckle tongue, a black bun, a cherrie cake and a box ο tangerines. Tam and Dan were staunin waitin.
‘Oh there ye are,’ said Tam. ‘I was juist gaun to caa ye. Sit in, nou, baith ο ye; and Mary, I think we’ll hae grace.’
It was seldom Tam caaed for a grace. This tea was bye the ordinar. Aa through it the big daft ane sat by the kitchen fire, ready to fill up the teapot. The wee ane gaed back and forrit, whiles but the hoose to the scullery, whiles up the stairs to the paurlor to serve Mrs Lauder in her bed.
Tam and Dan ate fit to burst, and argied aboot fermin maitters. Mary sat quait.
Ootbye the efternune grew wilder. The roar ο Stanebyres Linn, that ye could hear aye for ordinar, was drount in the bluster ο the wind. Muckle wraiths ο snaw fell aff the rufe and thunnert on the grun aneth the waas.
Tam turnt to Dan.
‘It maun be turnin to rain.’
‘Ay.’
It wasna lang afore the blatter ο rain could be heard on the shutters.
‘Thank the Lord for a rufe and a guid fire,’ said Tam.
Aa at ance Mary strauchtent in her chair.
‘Whaur’s the wee daftie?’
They aa lookit roun. The wee daftie was oot. Tam turnt to the lang ane at the fire.
‘Whaur’s the wee ane?’
‘I dinna ken.’
‘Whaur did she gang last?’
‘Up the stairs.’
Mary rase and ran up the stairs.
‘I kent it. She’s efter the bairn!’
Tam gied a twistit sort a lauch and said she had gane gyte. But whan a meenit passed and there was nae soun they baith grew solemn. And whan they heard her rinnin back doun the stairs again their hairts turnt to leid.
Whan she cam to the door her face was like daith.
‘The creddle’s tuim!’
‘Shairly to God no,’ said Tam, and stampit oot past her. Dan ran oot tae.
Syne they were back again, Tam yellin his heid aff. They trampit aa ower the hoose. The big ane gruntit in her sait. She kent naething, she said. Tam gat a lantern frae the scullery and gaed up to the front door.
Shair eneuch, there were futemarks in the snaw.
Tam telt Mary to bide wi her mither, but she peyed nae heed. She followed them up the drive.
The futemarks led to the auld coach-hoose, and in at the door. Dan had left his gig there, and they lookit aa roun it, but there was nae sign ο a sowl. Then Tam saw the lether that led up to the laft, and stertit to sclim it. The ither twa stude watchin wi their hairts dingin. Tam gat his heid abune the level ο the laft flair, and held up the lantern.
‘She’s here,’ he said.
He gaed on up. Dan elbowed Mary oot ο the wey and stertit to follow, but Tam cried doun.
‘Send Mary up.’
Dan gaed back doun again to mak wey for Mary.
Whan she won into the laft her faither was staunin haudin the lantern, starin at the faur waa. The wee daftie was staunin wi her back to it, haudin the bairn to her breist, and her een were fair stricken wi terror. The bairn was greitin its hairt oot.
Mary made to gang forrit.
‘Cannie nou,’ said Tam. ‘She’ll mebbe hairm it.’
Mary peyed nae heed. She gaed forrit to the daftie.
‘Gie me my bairn.’
The daftie grippit the bairn aa the tichter.
‘Help me, faither,’ said Mary, and grippit the craitur’s twa wrists.
Tam stude the lantern on the flair.
‘Leave her,’ he said, ‘and I’ll grip her.’
‘She’ll mebbe let it drap.’
‘Be ready to tak it.’
Tam took the wee daftie by the wrists and twistit, and Mary poued the bairn oot ο her grip. As sune as Tam saw that Mary had it safe he felled the wee daftie to the flair.
‘Ye suldna hae dune that, faither.’
‘Mebbe no,’ said Tam, wonerin what had come ower him. ‘Is the bairn aa richt?’
‘I think sae.’
‘Thank God,’ said Dan, frae the tap ο the lether.
They left the wee daftie whaur she was and gaed awa back doun to the hoose. The bairn was aa richt, and was putten back in the creddle. Tam gaed to see his wife, to fin if she had heard ocht ο the steer, but she was sleepin aff her tea, and kent naething. He made up his mind no to tell her a haet.
But he had forgotten the wee daftie, and he caaed for Dan, and the pair ο them gaed back to the coach-hoose to fin her, ettlin to lock her in her bedroom till the doctor could be brocht frae the asylum.
They couldna fin her. She had rin awa.
Dan
