It had been decided, Padraig learned, that he, as Brother Basil’s wonted companion on such excursions, would have the best chance of finding him now.  All that any one knew was that he had gone out of the great gate one morning early, and no one had seen him since.

“Nobody would,” said Padraig, “if he went straight north into the hills.  No one lives near the old road through the forest.”

It was in that direction that all the wolf-tracks had led from the sheep-fold, and the country was a wilderness of marsh and mountain.  The Abbot looked at the boy keenly, kindly.

“Are you willing to go alone?” he asked.

“It is the best way,” Padraig replied quickly.  “One can get on faster,—­ and there are not many here who can climb like him.  I think he must have met with an accident far from any dwelling.”

“He is well beloved by the people.  If any one had found him we should have heard.  And you have no fear?”

Padraig hesitated.  “There are many frightful things in the world,” he said slowly.  “Long ago I knew that if I let myself fear, fear would be my master all the days of my life.  But I am not like the others.  I am his dog.  I will find him if I live.”

“Go, my son, and God be with you,” said the Abbot solemnly.  And Padraig went.

He took three days’ provision in a leathern bag, and a pike such as the countrymen used, and headed straight toward the hills.  He knew that copper was to be found in some parts of the range, but why Brother Basil should go there alone, particularly just at this time, Padraig could not see.

He trotted over the slopes of tilled land near the Abbey, forded the river, circled a pond, and crossed a bog by froglike leaps from hassock to hassock.  In time he came to the base of a steep rocky height, almost a precipice.  On the left was a black mud-hole; to the right were craggy masses of rock.  A long slanting break in the cliff led upward to the left.  He thrust his staff in this and began to climb.

Thus far there was no choice, for this was the only direction Brother Basil could have taken without some one having seen him on the way.  From the height it might be possible to make observations.

Only a gossoon of the hills could have gone up the face of the rock as Padraig did, and he presently found himself on a ledge about twenty feet up, above the quagmire.  It was less than a foot wide at first, but widened toward the left, and seedling trees had formed a growth which appeared to merge into the densely wooded hill beyond.  He pushed his way along this insecure foothold until the trees began to thin as if there were an open space beyond.  Then directly in front of him sounded the unmistakable snarl of a wolf.

There was no time to think.  He braced himself against the cliff, and grasping his pike, awaited the assault of the beast.  Either he or the wolf, or both together, would be tumbled into the slough.  But there followed only a guttural word of command in Irish.  Then a voice that he knew called, “Padraig, my son, is that you?”