as you did before
the occurrence of this unfortunate picnic. Meanwhile it may comfort you
to know that her mother is already predisposed in your favour--naturally
too, for she would be ungrateful, as well as eccentric, if she had no
regard for the man who has twice saved her child's life. Ah! there goes
the dinner-bell, and I'm glad of it, for prolonged speaking fatigues me.
Come along."

CHAPTER THIRTEEN.

A CHAPTER OF CATASTROPHES.

It was the very next day after the conversation in the library that the
waggonette was sent over to Cove to meet the steamer and fetch Mrs
Moss, who was expected to arrive. As Ian Anderson and Donald with the
ragged head had to return home that day, they were offered a lift by
their friend Roderick.

"I wad raither waalk, Rodereek," said Ian; "but I dar' say I may as weel
tak a lift as far as the Cluff; chump up, Tonal'."

Donald was not slow to obey. Although active and vigorous as a mountain
goat, he had no objection to repose under agreeable conditions.

"What think ye o' the keeper _this_ time, Rodereek?" asked the boatman
as they drove away.

"Oo, it wull be the same as last time," answered the groom. "He'll haud
on for a while, an' then he wull co pack like the soo to her wallowin'
i' the mire."

"I doubt ye're richt," returned Ian, with a solemn shake of the head.
"He's an unstiddy character, an' he hes naither the fear o' Cod nor man
pefore his eyes. But he's a plees'nt man when he likes."

"Oo, ay, but there iss not in him the wull to give up the trink. He hes
given it up more than wance before, an' failed. He will co from pad to
worse in my opinion. There iss no hope for him, I fear."

"Fery likely," and on the strength of that opinion Ian drew a flask from
his pocket, and the two cronies had what the groom called a "tram"
together.

Farther up the steep road they overtook John Barret and Giles Jackman,
who saluted them with pleasant platitudes about the weather as they
passed. Curiously enough, these two chanced to be conversing on the
very subject that had engaged the thoughts of Ian and the groom.

"They say this is not the first time that poor Ivor has dashed his
bottle to pieces," said Barret. "I fear it has become a disease in this
case, and that he has lost the power of self-control. From all I hear I
have little hope of him. It is all the more sad that he seems to have
gained the affections of that poor little girl, Aggy Anderson."

"Inde