"Poor woman!" said Ferguson. "She will wait for her husband in vain. The mortgage will never be paid through his exertions."
Tom looked sober, as he glanced compassionately at the poor emigrant.
"He came on the same errand that I did," he said. "I hope my journey will have a happier ending."
"Always hope for the best, Tom," said his Scotch friend. "You will live happier while you do live, and, if the worst comes, it will be time enough to submit to it when you must."
"That is good philosophy, Mr. Ferguson."
"Indeed it is, my lad. Don't borrow trouble."
"We must bury these poor men," said Fletcher. "We can't leave them out here, possibly to be devoured by wild beasts. Who will volunteer for the service?"
"Come, Peabody," said John Miles, a broad-shouldered giant, who had a good-natured contempt for the young man from Boston. "Suppose you and I volunteer."
Lawrence Peabody shrank back in dismay at the unwelcome proposition.
"I couldn't do it," he said, shivering. "I never touched a dead body in my life. I am so delicate that I couldn't do it, I assure you."