“I am not. I’ve always something in me, gnawing at my heart.”
“Swallowed a crab, I reckon, without having him b’iled first.”
“It’s not that, Ciss. You know well it is not that. If one can’t get now what will make a fellow happy, it’s best to go, sez I.”
“You’ll get lots, lots over there,” said she, and pointed with the knife towards the sea, America, the bed of the setting sun.
“I don’t want lots—only one.”
“May you find that one. I hope you will.”
“Do you?” with a flash of happiness.
“Yes—in America.”
He hung his head.
“I suppose,” said Will, “that I shall be forgotten when I am far away.”