"Yes, sir," said I. "That is so."
"I was thinkin' as I lay down to-night," continued the old man in a real Wednesday-evening-meeting voice, "that those poor critters need a rest, too."
"You mean the Bo's'n and the Minion?" said I. "Yes, they do, we all do! You as much as the rest, Captain."
"If noses can speak," returned the Skipper, "the Bo's'n and the Minion are getting all they need just at present. I'm speakin' of those poor soldiers of fortune who have been standin' up for years, perhaps."
"Soldiers of fortune?" I said inquiringly.
"Well, I call 'em so. And of a pretty bad fortune, too. Now what I want of you is to come help me bury 'em."
"Oh, you mean the skeletons?" said I.
"I do," said the Skipper. I saw that the religious mania had got the weather side of him again.
"What! now?" said I. "It's so late, and I want a little sleep, too."
"I can not sleep until they are buried," said he. "Poor things, with no rest for the soles of their feet. I shall sleep easier when they are under the sod."