“Oh! he started to go over to England, and the ship was wrecked off the Irish coast, and that was the last of him. He never got to his property.”
“Good enough for him,” said both of us.
“Wal, I don't know: 'twas pretty hard on Jeff. Mebbe he did, and mebbe he didn't. I'm glad I warn't in his shoes, tho' I'd rather never hed nothin'. This 'ere hastin' to be rich is sich a drefful temptation.
“Wal, now, boys, ye've done a nice lot o' flax, and I guess we 'll go up to yer grand'ther's cellar and git a mug o' cyder. Talkin' always gits me dry.”
