“That you never will, Mr Moonshine; what’s o’clock now? mercy on us, how time flies in your company, Cockle, it is nearly four o’clock; it will be dark at six.”
“Neber mind, sar, me always ab moonshine whereber I go,” said the black, showing his teeth.
“It will take two hours to boil the pork, Bob; that fellow has been so busy this morning that he has quite forgot the dinner.”
“All you business, Massa Cockle.”
“Very true; but now start as soon as you can, and come back as soon as you can; here’s the note.”
Moonshine took the note, looked at the direction, as if he could read it, and in a few minutes was seen to depart.
“And now, Cockle,” said I, “as Moonshine will be gone some time, suppose you spin us a yarn to pass away the time.”
“I’ll tell you what, Bob, I am not quite so good at that as I used to be. I’ve an idea that when my pate became bald, my memory oozed away by insensible perspiration.”
“Never mind, you must have something left, you can’t be quite empty.”
“No, but my tumbler is; so I’ll just fill that up, and then I’ll tell you how it was that I came to go to sea.”