"Nonsense, Uncle Reuben! You know Aunt Hannah. She cannot help looking on the darkest side. When I was a boy, she was always prophesying I'd be hung, you know. Positively, sometimes she made me fear I might be," said Ishmael, smiling, and turning an affectionate glance upon his croaking relative.
"Yes, it's all very well for you to talk that way, Ishmael Worth. But I know one thing. I know I never heard of any sort of a ship going safe into port more than two or three times in the whole course of my life. And I have heard of many and many a shipwreck!" said Hannah, nodding her head, with the air of one who had just uttered a "knock-down" argument.
"Why, of course, Aunt Hannah. Because, in your remote country neighborhood you always hear of the wreck that happens once in a year or in two years; but you never hear of the thousands upon thousands of ships that are always making safe voyages."
"Oh, Ishmael, hush! It won't do. I'm not convinced. I don't expect ever to see you alive again."
"Law, Hannah, my dear, don't be so disbelieving. Really, now, you disencourage one."
"Hold your tongue, Reuben, you're a fool! I say it, and I stand to it, that steamer will either burst her boiler, or catch on fire, or sink, or something! And we shall never see our boy again."
Here little Molly, who had been attentively listening to the conversation, and, like the poor Desdemona, understood "a horror in the words," if not the words, opened her mouth and set up a howl that was immediately seconded by her brother.
It became necessary to soothe and quiet these youngsters; and Reuben lifted them both to his knees.
"Why, what's the matter with pappy's pets, then? What's all this about?" he inquired, tenderly stroking their heads.
"Cousin Ishmael is going away to be drownded! Boo-hoo-woo!" bawled
Molly.