“It must ’a weighed twenty stun at least”—murmured another man meditatively.
“What was it?” demanded a third—“I should ’a took it for a big grindstone if it hadn’t sparkled up so when the light fell on it.”
“Well, it may stay where it is for all I care,” said the first speaker—“I wouldn’t touch it again for a hundred pound!”
“Nor I.” “Nor I.”
They were all agreed on that point.
“Wotever he were a-doin’ on,”—said the fourth man gravely—“whether it were God’s work or the devil’s, it’s all over now. He’s done for, poor old chap! It’s an awful end—God rest his soul!”
The others lifted their caps and murmured “Amen” with simple reverence. Then they looked out at the dark wallowing trough of the sea.
“How the wind roars!” said the last speaker.
“Ay, it do roar,” replied the man who was his mate in the boat when they went fishing; “and did ye hear a cormorant scream a while ago?”
“Ay, ay! I heard it!” They were silent then, and turned in, after making inquiries concerning Karl at the cottage where they had left him. He was still unconscious.