ouse, nor succeed in regaining the byre.
Eventually both men with no small toil made their way to the kitchen,
where they found master and maids already assembled, and in a state of
no little alarm.

Their first concern was manifestly the safety of the sheep. But at such
an hour, in such a night, what could be done? Nevertheless, two hours
before daylight shepherds and master started for the hill, taking first
the precaution to _sew_ their plaids round them, and to tie on their
bonnets. For the thrilling details of the dangerous undertaking one must
refer to Hogg's own account, but it may here be noted that no sooner was
the kitchen door closed on the men than they lost each other, and lost
also all sense of direction; it was only by the sound of their voices
that the little party succeeded in keeping in each other's
neighbourhood. And such was the fury of the wind and the confusion of
the drift that frequently, in order to draw breath, they were compelled
to bend till their faces were between their knees. The farmhouse stood
within what in Scotland is called a "park," in this instance a small
enclosure, the wall of which might be at most three hundred yards
distant from the house door. It was two hours before daylight when they
entered this park; when morning broke, they had not yet succeeded in
making their way out of it.

Hogg's own story must be read, to learn how, and at what dire peril to
the searchers, Borthwick's flock was at length found. They were huddled
together, and buried deep in a snow wreath so compact that when the
outside sheep had been extricated, most of the remainder were able of
themselves to walk out, leaving where they had stood a sort of vast
cave. Hogg himself, when the bulk of Borthwick's sheep had been at
length saved, started alone to rescue his own flock. With comparatively
little trouble he found them, got them by slow degrees to a place of
safety, and then turned to make his way home. Of the course to steer, it
never occurred to him to doubt; he had known the hills from infancy, and
could have walked blindfold across them. His instinct for locality was
as the instinct of some wild animal, or of an Australian black-fellow.
But what put some dread in his mind was the knowledge that between him
and home lay the Douglas Burn, possibly by now in spate, and dangerous
to cross. The noise of the wind would prevent him from hearing the roar
of the swollen torrent, the driving snow prevent him fro