I
The Medusa had gone about and was rocking lazily home, the land misty on her larboard.
Forward a knot of tars were gathered, Blob's cherub-face for centre-piece.
The lad was telling his tale in his slow, musical way.
A hoary old sea-dog with unlaughing eyes was putting leading questions. The men crowded round with grins and thrusting heads. They spat; they chewed; they nudged each other. Here and there a ripple rose to a roar. One man turned his back, and hands deep in his pockets, laughed silently in the face of heaven. Another was stuffing his pig-tail into his mouth to stifle his merriment.
Blob held on his ghastly way unheeding.
His eyes, fresh as dew, had the round and staring look of a new-born babe; the tulip face lolled forward on slender stalk; and a tip of pink tongue played about a mouth, beautiful as a bud.
"And what did er say then?"
"Whoy," came the pure voice, "er said—'Dear! dear!' and Oi says—Theer! theer!' and plops it in, and plops it in, and plops it in."
The Parson hailed him from the poop.