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There was Bess Rablin, too, and Mary Kitty Climo, and Thomasine Oliver, and Long Eliza that married Treleaven the hoveller, and Pengelly's wife Ann; these made up the crew Sally stroked in the great race.

Jope affably, having drawn the required circle. "I don't seem to remember your face." "No?" The man seemed to think this out at leisure. "I was married this morning," he said at length with an air of explanation. "Wish ye joy. Saltash maid?" "Widow. Name of Sarah Treleaven." "Why that's my sister!" exclaimed Mr. Jope. "Is it?" The round-faced man took the news without apparent surprise or emotion.

And still the crew of the gig, staring over their shoulders while they pulled weakly, could see the men by the capstan standing motionless and waiting for orders. "Seems a'most as if they were expectin' somebody," says Pengelly with a sudden hopefulness: and with that Treleaven, that was pulling stroke, casts his eyes over his right shoulder and gives a gasp. "Good Lord, look!" says he.

Jope's countenance. "No, most certainly not. . . . But, my good man, an embalmer! and at Botusfleming, of all places!" The sailor's face fell. He sighed patiently. "That's what they said at Saltash, more or less. I got a sister living there Sarah Treleaven her name is a widow-woman, and sells fish.

"There's a score of vessels atween this and Cawsand," put in Treleaven, catching his breath like a man hit in the wind, "and half a dozen of 'em ready to weigh anchor any moment. There's naught for it but to take a boat and give chase."

"He was afraid," pursued Sal, "of being put into a pie." She paused at that, giving her words time to sink in. The preacher didn't notice yet awhile that Long Eliza Treleaven and Thomasine Oliver had crept round a bit and planted themselves in the footpath behind him.

"Bejimbers, Hancock," says Treleaven, standing up and looking uneasy, "you carry it far, I must say!" "Far? A jolly good joke, I should call it," answers Hancock, making bold to cross his legs again. And with that there comes a voice crying pillaloo in the passage outside; and, without so much as a knock, a woman runs in with a face like a sheet Sam Hockaday's wife, from the "Sailor's Return."

If you hadn't provoked your wife, this here wouldn't ha' happened." "Indeed?" says the monkey-fellow, crossing his legs and puffing. "So you've found something better to talk about? What's that, I'd like to know?" "Why, there's a press-gang out," says Treleaven. "But there! a fellow with your shaped legs don't take no interest in press-gangs, I reckon."

"And I mine!" yelled Pengelly. "And I mine!" yelled Treleaven. By this time the gig had fallen alongside the tender, and the women in the tender's hold were coming up to daylight, one by one. Sal herself stood watching the jail-delivery; and first of all she blinked a bit, after the darkness below, and next she let out a laugh, and then she reached up a hand and began unplaiting her pigtail.

Among the protected men his eye lit on Treleaven the hoveller, husband to Long Eliza, and Caius Pengelly, husband to Ann, that had pulled bow in the race. He winked to them mighty cunning. The pair of 'em seemed dreadfully cast down, and he knew a word to put them in heart again.