“‘What for?’ says they.
“‘Nothin’ much,’ says he; ‘but I jus’ got to.’
“‘You go t’ bed,’ says they, ‘an’ we’ll stow them swile in the stage.’
“‘I’ll lie down an’ warm up,’ says he, ‘an’ rest for a spell. Jus’ a little spurt,’ says he, ‘jus’ a little spurt—o’ rest.’
“‘You’ve made a wonderful haul,’ says they.
“‘At last!’ says he.
“‘Rest easy,’ says they, ‘as t’ that.’
“’Twas the women that put un t’ bed.
“‘Seems t’ me,’ says he, ‘that the frost has bit my heart.’
“So ol’ Bill Hulk was flat on his back when I made Gingerbread Cove with supplies in the first o’ that season—anchored there in bed, sir, at last, with no mortal hope o’ makin’ the open sea again. Lord! how white an’ withered an’ cold he was! From what a far-off place in age an’ pain an’ weariness he looked back at me!