His voice was thick, too, and after cursin' away for half a minute it
dropped to a sort of growl, same as you'll hear a man use when he's
full o' drink and reckons he has a grudge against somebody or
something--he doesn't quite know which, or what. Thought I, ''Tis a
risky game o' those others to leave a poor chap alone in that state.
He might catch the boat afire, for one thing: and, for another, he
might fall overboard.' It crossed my mind, too, that if he fell
overboard I hadn't a boat to pull for him.
"He went below after that, and for a couple of hours no sound came
from the _Maid in Two Minds_. 'Likely enough,' thought I, 'he's
turned in, to sleep it off; and that's the best could happen to him';
and by and by I put the poor fellow clean out o' my head. I made
myself a dish o' tea, got out supper, and ate it with a thankful
heart, though I missed the boys; but, then again, I no sooner missed
them than I praised God they had caught the train. They would be
nearin' home by this time; and I sat for a while picturin' it: the
kitchen, and the women-folk there, that must have made up their minds
to spend Christmas without us; particularly Lisbeth Mary--that's my
daughter, Daniel's wife--with her mother to comfort her, an' the
firelight goin' dinky-dink round the cups and saucers on the
dresser.
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