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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' what might he have answered?" inquired Billy without, however, showing particular interest to know. "He said he wasn't bit. His wife was a proper creature." "Bah! second-hand gudes that's what Lezzard be a widow-man an' eighty if a day. A poor, coffin-ripe auld blid, wi' wan leg in the graave any time this twenty year." Mrs. Coomstock's frame heaved at this tremendous criticism.
She gurgled and gazed at Billy with her eyes watering and her mouth open. "You say that! Eighty an' coffin-ripe!" "Ban't no ontruth, neither. A man 's allus ready for his elm overcoat arter threescore an' ten.
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