he had been suddenly pressed into service, and his mode of placating his offspring was at once unprofessional and productive of frantic excitement.
But the moment he caught sight of Murdoch an alarming change came upon him. His eyes opened to their fullest extent, his jaw fell and the color died out of his face. He rose hurriedly, dropped the youngest Briarley into his chair and darted out of the house, in such trepidation that his feet slipped under him when he reached the lower step, where he fell with a loud clatter of wooden clogs, scrambling up again with haste and difficulty and disappearing at once.
Attracted by the disturbance, Janey darted in from the inner room barely in time to rescue the deserted young Briarley.
"Wheer's he gone?" she demanded, signifying her father. "I towd her he wur na fit to be trusted! Wheer's he gone?"
"I don't know," Murdoch answered. "I think he ran away because he saw me. What is the trouble?"
"Nay, dunnot ax me! We canna mak' him out, neyther mother nor me. He's been settin' i' th' house fur three days, as if he wur feart to stir out—settin' by th' fire an' shakin' his yed, an' cryin' ivvery now and then. An' here's her i' th' back room to wait on. A noice toime this is fur him to pick to go off in. He mowt ha' waited till she wur done wi'."
As conversation naturally could not flourish under these circumstances, after a few minutes Murdoch took his leave.
It seemed that he had not yet done with Mr Briarley. Passing through the gate, he caught sight of a forlorn figure seated upon the road-side about twenty yards before
