“Westport men; they were taking that man over here you gave us the letter for—a Yankee fellow.”
“What do you mean by a Yankee, Sir?”
“Tom Crab called him so to me, that’s all I know; but he’s a good fellow, and gave me some brandy when he pulled me on board; and I near he rubbed me till I got quite warm.”
“Where is he now?”
“He’s helping them to carry that sick man up here, and I don’t think he’s so sick as they say. I’m sure it’s just fright, and no more; for every time the boat went about in stays, he’d raise his head and give a groan.”
“Of whom are you talking?”
“I don’t know his name, Sir; but they tell me he wants to see you very much. There he goes; they’ve got him in that blanket, and are bringing him here.”
“Where will I put the sick gentleman, Sir?” said Molly, coming in; “may I make a bed in the store-room?”
“Do so,” said Luttrell, briefly; “and for the other, give him the room that was your mistress’s; and do you, Harry, go out and be civil and attentive to these people. I will see them myself later on. They must put up with rough fare, but they came self-invited.”