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So he said, leaving his hand in mine, Im afraid, my deary, that I must have shocked you by all the wicked things Ive been sayin about the dead, and such like, for weeks past, but I didnt mean them, and I want ye to remember that when Im gone. We aud folks that be daffled, and with one foot abaft the krok- hooal, dont altogether like to think of it, and we dont want to feel scart of it, and thats why Ive took to makin light of it, so that Id cheer up my own heart a bit. But, Lord love ye, miss, I aint afraid of dyin, not a bit, only I dont want to die if I can help it. My time must be nigh at hand now,for I be aud, and a hundred years is too much for any man to expect. And Im so nigh it that the Aud Man is already whettin his scythe. Ye see, I cant get out o the habit of caffin about it all at once. The chafts will wag as they be used to. Some day soon the Angel of Death will sound his trumpet for me. But dont ye dooal an greet, my deary!--for he saw that I was crying-- if he should come this very night Id not refuse to answer his call. For life be, after all, only a waitin for somethin else than what were doin, and death be all that we can rightly depend on. But Im content, for its comin to me, my deary, and comin quick. It may be comin while we be lookin and wonderin. Maybe its in that wind out over the sea thats bringin with it loss and wreck, and sore distress, and sad hearts. Look! Look! he cried suddenly. Theres something in that wind and in the hoast beyont that sounds, and looks, and tastes, and smells like death. Its in the air. I feel it comin. Lord, make me answer cheerful, when my call comes! He held up his arms devoutly, and raised his hat. His mouth moved as though he were praying. After a few minutes silence, he got up,shook hands with me, and blessed me, and said good-bye, and hobbled off. It all touched me, and upset me very much. I was glad when the coastguard came along, with his spyglass under his arm. He stopped to talk with me, as he always does, but all the time kept looking at a strange ship. I cant make her out, he said. Shes a Russian, by the look of her. But shes knocking about in the queerest way. She doesnt know her mind a bit. She seems to see the storm coming,but cant decide whether to run up north in the open, or to put in here. Look there again! She is steered mighty strangely, for she doesnt mind the hand on the wheel, changes about with every puff of wind. Well hear more of her before this time tomorrow. |
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