“Oh, no, sir, I don’t think as my strength would fail,” said Peggy, in a feeble voice, for she had overheard the remark. “Not that I shouldn’t be thankful all the same, I allow—for thankfulness for mercies received is a dooty, an’ most on us do fail in that, though I say it that shouldn’t, but my strength ain’t quite gone yet—”
“Stand by, Slag, to fend off with your oar when we get close in,” said the doctor, interrupting Peggy’s discourse.
“Have any of you got matches in your pockets?” asked Massey, clapping his hands suddenly to the various receptacles about his person, with a look of unwonted anxiety.
“Ye may well ax that, Bob,” said O’Connor, using his own hands in the same way. “Cold, wet weather, and no house! It ’ud be death to the women, sure, av—”
“Here you are!” shouted Tomlin in a burst of triumph, in spite of his naturally reserved disposition.
He held up a box of vestas which, being a smoker, he fortunately had in his pocket.
“I hope they ain’t wet,” remarked Black Ned, suggestively.
“Wrap ’em well up,” said Slag.
Tomlin drew out his handkerchief and proceeded to do so. At the same moment the boat’s keel grated softly on the shingly shore.