"'You'm an unmannerly chield,' thought I to myself, but I made to pass him without no more to zay. But he stood in my road, and lifted his hand, and beckoned, like a chield az was used to be obeyed.
"Then I did zee as how his hair was wet, dripping with watter down over his cloathes, and zayweed and little crabs stuck to it, and his hands and face wor all battered and bruised and torn, and he wor soaked through and through with watter. He moved on, making signs for me to follow of 'un, and the watter squelched in his shoes az he went, and I didn't dare to hang back.
"He led me out right to point of the cliff, and down over the rocks to a little cove behind, where a great broken mass reared up in front of a cavern, and theer, a-lyin' on the strip of sand, beside the great pool of watter, lay a lady, and she had a little child held tight in her arms, with its face cuddled down on her neck, as ef 'twor asleep. When he pointed to thiccee, he gave a dreadful great wailing cry, and wor gone.
"I thought the lady was alive at first; for the wind lifted up her long black hair, az ef 'twor playing with it; and for all that her white gown were torn, and a great rag of lace fluttered from it, it wor decently folded round her, but she wor dead and cold enough when I come to touch her.
"I got help, and she wor carried round, and buried up in the churchyard, with her little 'un in the same coffin, but neither I nor any living chield ever saw the forriner more."
"Osborn!" cried Ralph. "Do you really mean to tell me that you saw that yourself?"
"I did, Maister Ralph."
"That Hell Bay be a quare place, zur," said Wills. "I du knaw she well. Ef there du be sech things az spreets, thiccee be the spot for 'un. Many and many a good ship have gone to pieces there; never a winter passes but three or four du go. I mind me of one awful gale when a big ship were seen there, throwing up lights and firing guns for help, but no help could drae near to 'un. Next day one little baby's shoe wor washed up,—a purty little blue kid shoe, with a silver button to it, but never a sign more of who or what the volks might be that had all gone in the dead hours of the night."
"Ay," began Osborn, once more resuming his reminiscences. "That wor the gale—I mind it well—when a brig rode safely into Padstow Harbour, and wor saved, with never a living soul aboard of her. The crew had been scared, and took to their boats, when ef they'd stuck to the brig they'd have been saved. Never a one wor zeed, but the clock were ticking away when the brig was boarded, a-telling the time for the dead men; and the fried bacon and tetties wor a-keeping hot over the galley fire for them az would never eat a meal more."
"Don't you think of these things when a storm comes while you are at sea?" asked Ralph. "Do they not make you nervous?"