be far off--he will soon cast
up. He will only be out looking at the town."

"Or showing off gallant Jonathan Barlowman's gun, big-coat, and knapsack,"
said one.

"Keep yoursel at ease, Mr Goldie," said another, laughing; "there is no
danger of his passing the advanced posts, and falling into the hands of the
French."

It was easy for those to jest who were ignorant of a father's fears and a
father's feelings. I sat down for the space of five minutes, and to me they
seemed five hours; but I drank nothing, and I said nothing, but I kept my
eyes fixed upon the door. Robin did not return. I thought the ale might
have overcome the laddie, and that he had gone out and lain down in a state
of sickness; and "That," thought I, "will be a _becoming_ state for me to
take him home in to his distressed mother. Or it will cause us to stop a
night upon the road."

My anxiety became insupportable, and I again left my comrades, and went out
to seek him. I sought him in every street, in every public-house in the
town, amongst the soldiers, and amongst the townspeople; but all were too
much occupied in discussing the cause of the alarm, to notice him who was
to me as the apple of my eye. For three hours I wandered in search of him,
east, west, north, and south, making inquiries at every one I met; but no
one had seen or heard tell of him. I saw the coach drive off for Dunbar. I
beheld also my comrades muster on the following morning, and prepare to
return home, but I wandered up and down disconsolate, seeking my son, but
finding him not.

The most probable, and the fondest conjecture that I could indulge in, was,
that he had returned home. I, therefore, shouldered my musket, and followed
my companions to Dunse, whom I overtook upon the moors. It would be
impossible for me to describe my feelings by the way--they were torture
strained to its utmost extremity, and far more gloomy and dreary than the
gloomiest and dreariest parts of the moors over which we had to pass. Every
footstep increased my anxiety, every mile the perturbation and agony of my
spirit. Never, I believe, did a poor parent endure such misery before, and
I wished that I had never been one. I kept looking for him to the right and
to the left every minute; and though it was but few travellers that we met
upon the road, every one that we did meet I described him to them, and
asked them if they had seen him. But, "No!" "No!" was their unvaried
answer, and my wretchedness