"A corpse, Ancient; what do you mean?"
"I means as a corp' aren't got no right to eat a breakfus'—no!"
"Why, I—no, certainly not."
"Consequently, you aren't a corp', you'll be tellin me."
"I?—no, not yet, God be thanked!"
"Peter," said the Ancient, shaking his head, and mopping his brow with a corner of his neckerchief, "you du be forever a-givin' of me turns, that ye du."
"Do I, Ancient?"
"Ay—that ye du, an' me such a aged man tu—such a very aged man. I wonders at ye, Peter, an' me wi' my white 'airs—oh, I wonders at ye!" said he, sinking into the chair I had placed for him and regarding me with a stern, reproving eye.
"If you will tell me what I have been guilty of—" I began.
"I come down 'ere, Peter—so early as it be, tu—I come down 'ere to look for your corp', arter the storm an' what 'appened last night. I comes down 'ere, and what does I find?—I finds ye a-eatin' your breakfus'—just as if theer never 'adn't been no storm at all—no, nor nothin' else."