“See, mother,” he shouted fiercely, “I have done wi’ the accursed thing at last!”
He dashed the bottle on the hearth with tremendous violence as he spoke, so that it vanished into minute fragments, while its contents spurted about in all directions. Happily very little of it went into the fire, else the cottage would have been set ablaze.
With another wild laugh the man wheeled round, staggered out of the cottage, and went his way.
“You are not hurt, I trust?” said the lady, anxiously bending down over the poor old creature, who had remained calmly seated in her chair, without the slightest appearance of alarm.
“No, I’m not hurt, thank the Lord,” she answered.
“Don’t you think that that was an answer to our prayer?” asked the lady with some eagerness.
Old Molly shook her head dubiously. “It may be so,” she replied; “but I hev often seen ’im i’ that mind, and he has gone back to it again and again, like the soo that was washed, to her wallowin’ i’ the mire. Yet there did seem somethin’ different aboot ’im the day,” she added thoughtfully; “but it iss not the first time I hev prayed for him without gettin’ an answer.”
“Answers do not always come as we expect them,” returned her visitor; “yet they may be granted even while we are asking. I don’t know how it is, but I feel sure that Jesus will save your son.”
Poor little Flo, who had been deeply affected by the terrible appearance of her favourite Ivor, and who had never seen him in such a plight before, quietly slipped out of old Molly’s hut and went straight to that of the keeper. She found him seated on a chair with his elbows on his knees, his forehead resting on his hands, and his strong fingers grasping his hair as if about to tear it out by the roots. Flo, who was naturally fearless and trustful, ran straight to him and placed a hand on his shoulder. He started and looked round.
“Bairn! bairn!” he said grasping her little head, and kissing her forehead, “what brings ye here?”