Theer he do stand
bedoled wi' all manner o' airthly sufferin', poor creature. Him wi' all his
righteousness behind en tu! But the thinkin' paarts of en be drownded wheer
his bwoy was, an' I lay theer ban't no druggister, nor doctor neither,
as'll bring 'em back to en."
"Look at that now!" exclaimed another man. "See who's a talkin' to
Tregenza! If that ban't terrible coorious! 'Tis Billy Jago, the softy!"
Billy was indeed addressing Gray Michael and getting an answer to his
remarks. The laborer's brains might be addled, but they still contained
sane patches. He had heard of the fisherman's loss and now touched his hat
and expressed regret.
"Ay, the young be snatched, same as a build-in' craw will pick sprigs o'
green wood for her nest an' leave the dead twig to rot. Here I be, rotten
an' coffin-ripe any time this two year, yet I'm passed awver for that
braave young youth. An' how is it wi' you, Mr. Tregenza? I s'pose the Lard
do look to His awn in such a pass?"
Gray Michael regarded the speaker a moment and then made answer.
"I be that sleepy, my son, an' hungry wi' it. Iss fay, I could eat a bloody
raw dog-fish an' think it no sin. See to this, but doan't say nothin' 'bout
it. The bwoat went down wi' all hands, but us flinged a bottle to Bucca for
en to wash ashore wi' the news. But it never comed, for why? 'Cause that
damnation devil bringed the bottle 'gainst granite rocks, an' the message
was washed away for mermaids to read an' laugh at; an' the grass-green
splinters o' glass as held the last cry o' drownin' men--why, lil childern
plays wi' 'em now 'pon the sand.
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