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The misery which he had seen in Dirk's wretched hut haunted him. Hagar poured out the boy's cup of tea, waited a little space, then returned it to its steaming pot again. "Come, yer supper's cold 'nough, now, honey," said she, coming up to Noll's seat. "What ye waitin' fur? Oh, chile, ye grows more'n' more like yer poor father. T'inkin' ob de mis'ry ober dar; ain't ye?"
Und den she say maybe he is not keel heem any vay, bot yust t'inkin' he keel him, und he tol' her yas, he keel heem all right, he push heem ofer und he is dead already, und so he kiss her some more, und she is cry some more, und I t'ink he is cry, too, bot dot is all. He done it all right. Und he is gone off den, und she is gone in her house, und I don't see more no."
The searchers explored the inner, tangled recesses of a dozen thickets of spruce-tuck, snarled coverts of alders, hollows hip-deep in sodden snow, and the pits and rocky shelters of knolls and hummocks. "He bes hid away somewheres, sure's Saint Peter was a fisherman," said the skipper. "Axin' yer pardon, skipper, I bes t'inkin' as how maybe he bain't dead," said Nick Leary, humbly.
Bes that yerself, Nick Leary?" "Aye, skipper, aye," replied Nick. The two were now at the top of the path, staring anxiously at the skipper through the gloom. Leary's head was still in a bandage. "We was jist a-settin' out to look for ye, skipper," said Bill. Black Dennis Nolan laughed at that. "Was ye t'inkin' I couldn't find me way back to me own harbor, in fair weather?" he asked.
"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.
Courteau 'ain't lose but six hundred, an' he's got it back. No! I'm t'inkin' you Policemans is got good sense, but I lak better a miners' meetin'. Us 'sour-dough' mak' better law as dem feller at Ottawa." "Morris Best was willing to go his bail," Rock informed him, "but Miller wouldn't allow it. Ben is sore at having the Rialto implicated there's been so much short-weighing going on. Understand?"
"I understand, Moses. That speech means that you are suffering from the same complaint. Well get out the biscuit." "Jus' de way oh de wurld," muttered the negro with a bland smile. "If a poor man obsarves an' feels for de sorrows ob anoder, he allers gits credit for t'inkin' ob hisself. Neber mind, I's used to it!"
"He do be a moighty foine bye, Jack Keith," she said, apparently addressing the side wall. "Oi wish Oi'd a knowed him whin Oi was a gyurl; shure, it's not Murphy me noime'd be now, Oi'm t'inkin'." Left alone, the girl bowed her head on her hands, a hot tear stealing down through her fingers. As she glanced up again, something that glittered on the floor beside the bed caught her eyes.
She found the house very lonely, and more often than ever dropped in upon her neighbours during the day. "I'm sure troubled 'bout de Cun'l," she confided to Mrs. Watson one afternoon. "He jes sets an' sets an' says nuffin'. I know he's t'inkin' 'bout Missie Jean, but he nebber speaks 'bout her now. His po' ol' heart is jes broke, an' no wonder."
The negro, who, although comparatively short of stature, was herculean in build, looked at the youth with an amused expression. "You're bery good, sar, but da's not what I's t'inkin' ob. I's t'inkin' whedder I dar' ventur' to introdoce you to my massa. He's not fond o' company, an' it might make 'im angry, but he came by a heaby loss lately an' p'raps he may cond'send to receibe you.