The only living biped they met in their walk was the unfortunate
Harry Ap-Heather, with whom they fell in by the stepping-stones,
who, seeing the girl of his heart hanging on another man's arm,
and, concluding at once that they were "keeping company," fixed on
her a mingled look of surprise, reproach, and tribulation; and,
unable to control his feelings under the sudden shock, burst into a
flood of tears, and blubbered till the rocks re-echoed.

They left him mingling his tears with the stream, and his
lamentations with its murmurs. Mr. Chainmail inquired who that
strange creature might be, and what was the matter with him. The
young lady answered, that he was a very worthy young man, to whom
she had been the innocent cause of much unhappiness.

"I pity him sincerely," said Mr. Chainmail and, nevertheless, he
could scarcely restrain his laughter at the exceedingly original
figure which the unfortunate rustic lover had presented by the
stepping-stones.

The children ran out to meet their dear Miss Susan, jumped all
round her, and asked what was become of her hat. Ap-Llymry came
out in great haste, and invited Mr. Chainmail to walk in and dine:
Mr. Chainmail did not wait to be asked twice. In a few minutes the
whole party, Miss Susan and Mr. Chainmail, Mr. and Mrs. Ap-Llymry,
and progeny, were seated over a clean homespun table cloth,
ornamented with fowls and bacon, a pyramid of potatoes, another of
cabbage, which Ap-Llymry said "was poiled with the pacon, and as
coot as marrow," a bowl of milk for the children, and an immense
brown jug of foaming ale, with which Ap-Llymry seemed to delight in
filling the horn of his new guest.