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Updated: June 6, 2025


"Farmer, you're either a born liar or the darlin' o' luck." "Aye: I feel it. I feel that overpowerin'ly." "For my part," put in Mrs. Jim Lewarne, "I've given over follerin' the freaks o' Fortune. They be so very undiscernin'." And this sentence probably summed up the opinion of the majority. In the midst of the excitement Young Zeb strode up to the stranger, who stood a little behind the throng.

"Uncle Issy," asked Jim Lewarne, lurching up, "I durstn' g-glint over my shoulder but wud 'ee mind tellin' me if th' old woman's lookin' this way afore I squench my thirst?" "Iss, she be." Jim groaned.

To-morrow, or the next day, I go; and the chances are that we never meet again in this world. I tell you I know something of these matters " "I thought you'd passed your days privateerin'," put in Jim Lewarne, who was the only hostile listener, perhaps because he saw no chance of sharing in the promised wealth. "Jim, hold your tongue!" snapped Ruby.

Three men had detached themselves from the group above the cliff, and were sidling down its face cautiously, for the hurricane now flattened them back against the rock, now tried to wrench them from it; and all the way it was a tough battle for breath. The foremost was Jim Lewarne, Farmer Tresidder's hind, with a coil of the farmer's rope slung round him.

Around her, in as much of the warmth as she spared, sat Old Zeb, Uncle Issy, Jim Lewarne, his brother, and six or seven other notables of the two parishes. They were listening just now, and though the mug of eggy-hot passed from hand to hand as steadily as usual, a certain restrained excitement might have been guessed from the volumes of smoke ascending from their clay pipes.

Zeb also could only be descried at intervals, his head appearing, now and again, like a cork on the top of a billow. But the last of the ebb was helping him, and Jim Lewarne, himself at times neck-high in the surf, continued to pay out the line slowly. In fact, the feat was less dangerous than it seemed to the spectators.

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