"Why, Mart'n!" cried he. "Oh, pal—here's j'y, choke me wi' a rammer else! Lord, Mart'n—three years—how time doth gallop! And you no whit changed, save for your beard! But here's me wi' a fine stocked farm t'other side Lamberhurst—and, what's more, a wife in't as be sister to Cecily as you'll mind at the 'Hoppole'—and, what's more, a blessed infant, pal, as I've named Tom arter myself, by reason that my name is God-be-here, and Mart'n arter you, by reason you are my pal and brought me all the good fortun' as I ever had. Aha, 'twas a mortal good hour for me when we first struck hands, Mart'n."
"And you're more than quits, Godby, by saving me from the fire—"
"Why, pal, you fell all of a swound, d'ye see, and there's my Lady Brandon and t'other 'un a-running to fetch ye, flames or no—so what could I do—"
"My lady Joan?"
"Aye and t'other 'un—the Spanish dame as you come up a-cuddling of,
Mart'n—and a notable fine piece she be, as I'm a gunner—"
"Is my lady on deck?"
"Which on 'em, pal?"
"Joan, man—my Lady Brandon!"
"Aye, and mighty downcast by her look. 'Godby,' says she to me a while back, 'if I find not my father now, I do think my poor heart will break!' And the sweet sad eyes of her, pal—"
"I'll get up!" said I, tossing off the bed clothes.