"Hi! Bill!" he called to his shipmate,
who having stored the cask, was returning to the boat.
"Wot is it?" asked Bill Adams inattentively. "Look here, where did
we stow the hammer an' chisel?"
"Take your head out o' the boat an' listen. The old woman's dead!"
The tall man absorbed the news slowly.
"That's a facer," he said at length. "But maybe we can fix _her_ up,
too? I'll stand my share."
"She was buried the week after Christmas."
"Oh?" Bill scratched his head. "Then we can't--not very well."
"Times an' again I've heard Eli talk of his poor old mother," said
Mr. Jope, turning to the Parson. "Which you'll hardly believe it,
but though I knowed him for a West Country man, 'twas not till the
last I larned what parish he hailed from. It happened very
curiously. Bill, rout up A. Grigg and Son, an' fetch him forra'd
here to listen. You'll find the tools underneath him in the
stern-sheets."
Bill obeyed, and possessing himself of hammer and chisel lounged off
to the shore. The little barber drew near, and stood at Mr. Jope's
elbow. His face wore an unhealthy pallor, and he smelt potently of
strong drink.
"Brandy it is," apologised Mr.
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