"Taking my pen, as I've had for
better nor five year. Bless us, and save us! he's burning it! Ay,
I see now, he's his wits about him; burnt feathers is always good
for a faint. But they don't bring her round, poor wench! Now
what's he after next? Well! he is a bright one, my old man! That I
never thought of that, to be sure!" exclaimed she, as he produced a
square bottle of smuggled spirits, labelled "Golden Wasser," from a
corner cupboard in their little room.
"That'll do!" said she, as the dose he poured into Mary's open mouth
made her start and cough. "Bless the man. It's just like him to be
so tender and thoughtful!"
"Not a bit!" snarled he, as he was relieved by Mary's returning
colour, and opened eyes, and wondering, sensible gaze; "not a bit.
I never was such a fool afore."
His wife helped Mary to rise, and placed her in a chair.
"All's right, now, young woman?" asked the boatman anxiously.
"Yes, sir, and thank you. I'm sure, sir, I don't know rightly how
to thank you," faltered Mary softly forth.
"Be hanged to you and your thanks.
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