"Thee shaan't christen un, ef he's never christened!" said the father. "I've no faith in'ee: not a dinyun.[L] Go to Halifax to shoot gaanders: tha's all thee'rt fit for!"
"He'll suffer for it, both here and hereafter," said the parson.
"Doan't believe it!" said the man.
"Wherever he dies, whether on land or on water, he will become a creature of that element instead of going to his rest," said the parson, with an angry light in his eyes.
"Doan't believe it!" said the man: "an' thee doan't nayther."
The parson marched off, disdaining to reply.
The infant grew into a bright little lad, but there was always a certain oddity about him, and he saw and understood more than he ought.
One day he was out fishing with a companion, in a tiny punt they had borrowed for the purpose, when he leaned overboard too far and fell into the sea.
His little companion was so paralysed with terror that he could do nothing but set up a shrill screaming, clinging to the boat with both his hands.
Silas rose once—and twice—with wildly-pleading eyes: his mouth full of water: his hair plastered against his head: then sank; and a third time emerged just above the surface; so close to the boat that his companion, leaning over, could see him sinking down slowly into the crystalline depths, with his hands stretched up and the hair on his head tapering to a point like the flame of a candle.