“Never sees her; and she was so busy with herself, that, although close to him, she never sees he—always remembering that the night was dark. So Poll turned her eyes up, for all the world like a dying jackdaw.”
“Tell me, friend Dux,” interrupted the Dominie, “doth a jackdaw die in any peculiar way?”
“Yes,” replied young Tom; “he always dies black, master.”
“Then doth he die as he liveth. (Cluck, cluck.) Proceed, good Dux.”
“And don’t you break the thread of my yarn any more, master, if you wish to hear the end of it. So Poll begins to bludder about Ben. ‘O Ben, Ben,’ cried she; ‘cruel, cruel man; for to come—for to go;—for to go—for to come!’
“‘Who’s there?’ shouted Ben.
“‘For to come—for to go,’ cried Poll.
“‘Ship ahoy!’ hailed Ben, again.
“‘For to go—for to come,’ blubbered Poll; and then she couldn’t bring out anything more for sobbing. With that, Ben, who thought he knew the voice, walks up to her, and says, ‘Be that you, Poll?’
“‘Be that you, Ben?’ replied Poll, taking her hands from her face, and looking at him.