“Eh? Wheer? Wheer?” he cried in a shrill treble, looking vacantly around him.
“Wake up, old ’un!” said William, seizing him, and shaking him again. “It’s me, William Jones.”
“William? Is it my son William?” returned the old man, peering out into the darkness.
“Yes, father. Look ye now, you was a-talking again in your sleep, you was. A good thing no one heerd you but your son William. Some o’ these days you’ll be letting summat out, you will, if you go on like this.”
The old man shook his head feebly, then clasping his hands together in a kind of rapture, he looked at his son, and said—
“Yes, William, I was a-dreaming. Oh, it was such a heavingly dream! I was a-standing on the shore, William, and it was a-blowing hard from the east, and all at once I see a ship as big as an Indiaman, come in wi’ all sail set, and go ashore; and I looked round, William dear, and there was no one nigh but you and me; and when she broke up, I see gold and silver and jewels come washing ashore just like floating weeds, and the drownded, every one of ’em, had rings on their fingers, and gold watches and cheens, and more’n that, that their hands was full of shining gold; and one on ’em—a lady, William—had a bright dimond ring, as big as a walnut; but when I tried to pull it off, it wouldn’t come—and just as I pulled out my leetle knife to cut the finger off, and put it in my pocket, you shook me, William, and woke me up. Oh! it was a heavingly dream!”
William Jones had listened with ill-disguised interest to the early part of this speech, but on its conclusion, he gave another grunt of undissembled disgust.
“Well, you’re awake now, old ’un, so jump up. I’ve brought summat home. Look sharp, and get a light.”
Thereupon the old man, who was fully dressed, in a pair of old woollen trousers and a guernsey, slipped from the bed, and began fumbling about the room. He soon found what he wanted—a box of matches and a rude home-made candle, fashioned of a long, coarse reed dipped in sheep’s tallow, but owing to the fact that he was exceedingly feeble and tremulous, he was so long in lighting up that his gentle son grew impatient.
“Here, give ’un to me!” said William. “You’re wasting them matches just as if they cost nowt. A precious father you are, and no mistake.”