"Because, after to-night, if I chance to be neither dead nor in prison, I'm for shipboard."
"'Tis an ill life, pal!"
"Why, life is an ill thing!" says I.
"Nay, look'ee, Martin, life may be worth whiles now and then—aye, lad, there be times, good times."
"What times?"
"Well, Martin, to lie snug 'neath hedge o' star-time, when your fire's low an' the stars peep down through leaves at a man—wink, they go, and wink, wink, till, watching 'em, a man forgets his troubles awhile and knows something o' content. Aha, many's the time o' star-time they have winked me and my troubles asleep. Then there's wakings o' bird-time, wi' the sun up, dew a-sparkle and life calling within ye and without, and the birds—O the birds, Martin—a-filling the world wi' brave songs o' hope new-born like the day! Ah, many's the morn the birds ha' waked me and I as merry as any grig—Lord love their beaks and wings! There's hay-time o' the evening full o' soft, sweet smells—aye, sweet as lad's first kiss; there's wheat-time at noon wi' the ears a-rustle and the whitt-whitt o' scythe and whetstone; there's night, Martin, and the long, black road dipping and a-winding, but wi' the beam o' light beyond, lad—the good light as tells o' journey done, of companionship and welcomes and belike—eyes o' love, with—"
"Lusty ale!" quoth Roger, setting three new-filled pipkins before us. "And none better nor ourn—eh, wife?"
"That I do swear to, Roger!" laughed the peddler, "Choke me else! But now, as to the sea, Martin pal—'tis a dog's life!"
"You know the sea, then?"
"Like my hand, Martin, and all along o' my father's godliness. A fine, big man he was and devout as he was lusty. Having begot me his next duty was to name me, and O pal, name me he did! A name as no raskell lad might live up to, a name as brought me into such troublous faction ashore that he packed me off to sea. And if you ax me what name 'twas, I'll answer ye bold and true—'God-be-here Jenkins,' at your service, though Godby for short and 'twixt friends."