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"The men won't be tryin' any o' their tricks, I bes t'inkin'. Dick Lynch bain't fit for any divilment yet awhile an' 'tothers be busy gettin' timber for the church. Send Cormy to tell Bill Brennen an' Nick Leary to keep 'em to it." "Why bes ye goin' yerself, Denny?" inquired the old woman. "Sure, it bes safest for me to carry the letter, Granny," returned the skipper.
'Twas herself the spell o' her kilt the t'ree lads in the cabin, they be sayin'. Their talk was desperate black, Denny." "'Twas the poor dead, drownded woman, an' their own cowardly souls, kilt 'em!" "Aye, Denny, so it was, nary a doubt; but they shot ye some desperate black looks, Denny." "Well, Cormy, don't ye be worryin'. Fifty t'ousand squid like Dick Lynch couldn't frighten me.
He cut at it with a knife used for skinning seals, and filled the tea-kettle with fragments of ice. His young brother Cormick came stiffly down the ladder from the loft, and stood close to the stove shivering. "It bes desperate weather, Denny," said the lad. "Sure, I near froze in my blankets." "Aye, Cormy, but we bes snug enough, wid no call to go outside the door," replied the skipper.
"An' there'll be more wracks, Cormy, an' we'll take our pickin's from every one," said the skipper. "Times bes changed, lad. The day was when we took what the sea t'rowed up for us; but now we takes what we wants an' leaves what we don't want to the sea." At that moment the voice of old Mother Nolan sounded fretfully from the next room. "Denny! Cormy!" she called.
The comather, ye say? Saints o' God! but I'll be puttin' it on themselves wid a club! Bewitched? What the divil do they know o' witches? Fishes bes all they understands! Black looks they give me, did they? I'll be batin' 'em so black they'll all look like rotted herrings, by the Holy Peter hisself! Aye, Cormy, don't ye worry, now."
"Pick him up," said the skipper, sullenly. "There bes grub enough an' to spare to feed him an' a hundred like him. Heave him up atween ye, men, an' we'll be lockin' of him up in a safe place. Fetch along the lantern, Cormy, lad." John Darling opened his eyes at this moment, stared dizzily around him and struggled up to one elbow. "Flora!" he cried. "Flora, where are you?"
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