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"So they took him to where pore old Pipes lay in his chair, his head lollin back, somethin dreadful to see. "The Genelman bends over him, and takes one of his hands. "That stirs the old man. "'That you, sir? says he, usky-like. "'Ah, friend, says the Genelman, 'how goes it? "'Tarrabul ornary, says pore old Pipes. "'You'll be better soon, says the Genelman, strokin his hand.
"Oi thart oi yerd a Frenchie in the bar'l," said Blob in the slow and undulating voice of Sussex. "Oi went fur to fetch un out, when a tarrabul great oarse-fly settled on ma butt-end and stung her." "It was no horse-fly," replied the Parson. "It was my dear lady. Now, don't bother to think of any more lies, my lad, but just take that lantern from the wall, and go below.
You can sing em a little song, if you know one to keep em quiet." He slid down into the twilight of the kitchen. There only the old foretop-man was to be seen, patient at his post of watch. "Where's Knapp, Piper?" "Why, sir, in the cellar. Wanted to be alone with his trouble, I reck'n. Tarrabul down-earted, the poor lad be."
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