atty," said Stephen to his wife, as he jolted his daughter into a
state of wild delight on his knee, "Tottie is becoming very like you.
She's got the same pretty little turned-up nose, an' the same huge grey
eyes with the wicked twinkle in 'em about the corners."

"Don't talk nonsense, Stephen, but tell me about this robbery."

"I know nothin' about it more than I've told ye, Matty. Eve didn't know
the man, and her description of him is confused--she was frightened,
poor thing! But I promised to send some one to look after her at once,
for her drunken mother isn't fit to take care of herself, let alone the
sick child. Who can I send, think 'ee?"

Mrs Lockley pursed her little mouth, knitted her brows, and gazed
thoughtfully at the baby, who, taking the look as personal, made a face
at her. Finally she suggested Isabella Wentworth.

"And where is she to be found?" asked the skipper.

"At the Martins', no doubt," replied Mrs Lockley, with a meaning look.
"She's been there pretty much ever since poor Fred Martin came home,
looking after old granny, for Mrs Martin's time is taken up wi' nursing
her son. They say he's pretty bad."

"Then I'll go an' see about it at once," said Stephen, rising, and
setting Tottie down.

He found Isa quite willing to go to Eve, though Mrs Mooney had stormed
at her and shut the door in her face on the occasion of her last visit.

"But you mustn't try to see Fred," she added. "The doctor says he must
be kep' quiet and see no one."

"All right," returned the skipper; "I'll wait till he's out o'
quarantine. Good day; I'll go and tell Eve that you're coming."

On his way to Mrs Mooney's hut Stephen Lockley had again to pass the
Blue Boar. This time he did not give it "a wide berth." There were two
roads to the hut, and the shorter was that which passed the
public-house. Trusting to the strength of his own resolution, he chose
that road. When close to the blue monster, whose creaking sign drew so
many to the verge of destruction, and plunged so many over into the
gulf, he was met by Skipper Ned Bryce, a sociable, reckless sort of man,
of whom he was rather fond. Bryce was skipper of the _Fairy_, an iron
smack, which was known in the fleet as the Ironclad.

"Hullo! Stephen. _You_ here?"

"Ay, a week before my time, Ned. That lubber Groggy Fox ran into me,
cut down my bulwarks, and carried away my bowsprit an' some o' my
top-hamper."

"Come along--have a glass, an' let's