Mrs. Duff-Whalley had, with an effort, regained her temper, and was now all smiles.

“We must see you often at The Towers while you are in Priorsford, dear Miss Reston.  Muriel and I are on our way to tea with Lady Tweedie.  She will be so excited to hear you are back.  You have made quite a place for yourself in our little circle.  Good-bye, Jean, we shall be seeing you some time.  Come, Muriel.  Well—­t’ta.”

When the visitors had rolled away in their car Jean told Pamela about Peter.

“I couldn’t tell you before those opulent, well-pleased people.  It’s absolutely breaking our hearts.  Mrs. M’Cosh looks ten years older, and Jock and Mhor go about quite silent thinking out wicked things to do to relieve their feelings.  David has gone over all the hills looking for him, but he may be lying trapped in some wood.  Come and speak to Mrs. M’Cosh for a minute.  Between Peter and the boiler she is in despair.”

They found Mrs. M’Cosh baking with the gas oven.

“It’s a scone for the tea.  When I seen Miss Reston it kinna cheered me up.  Hae ye tell’t her aboot Peter?”

“He will turn up yet, Mrs. M’Cosh,” Pamela assured her.  “Peter’s such a clever dog, he won’t let himself be beat.  Even if he is trapped I believe he will manage to get out.”

“It’s to be hoped so, for the want o’ him is something awful.”

A knock came to the back door and a boy’s voice said, “Is Peter in?” It was a message boy who knew all Peter’s tricks—­knew that however friendly Peter was with a message boy on the road, he felt constrained to jump out at him when he appeared at the back door with a basket.  The innocent question was too much for Mrs. M’Cosh.

“Na,” she said bitterly.  “Peter’s no’ in, so ye needna hold on to the door.  Peter’s lost.  Deid, as likely as not.”  She turned away in bitterness of heart, leaving Jean to take the parcels from the boy.

The boys came in quietly after another fruitless search.  They did not ask hopefully, as they had done at first, if Peter had come home, and Jean did not ask how they had fared.

The sight of Pamela cheered them a good deal.

“Does she know?” Jock asked, and Jean nodded.

Pamela kept the talk going through tea, and told them so many funny stories that they had to laugh.

“If only,” said Mhor, “Peter was here now the Honourable’s back we would be happy.”

“There’s a big box of hard chocolates behind that cushion,” Pamela said, pointing to the sofa.

It was at that moment that the door opened, and Mrs. M’Cosh put her head in.  Her face wore a broad smile.

“The wanderer has returned,” she said.

At that moment Jean thought the Glasgow accent the most delightful thing on earth and the smile on Mrs. M’Cosh’s face the most beautiful.  With a shout they all made for the kitchen.

There was Peter, thin and dirty, but in excellent spirits, wagging his tail so violently that his whole body wagged.