Both, moreover, did justice to Mr. Menaida’s wine, they did not spare it; why should they? Those for whom the board was spread had not troubled to come to it, and they must make amends for their neglect.
“Horrible weather,” said the rector. “I suppose this detestable sort of stuff of which the atmosphere is composed is the prevailing abomination one has to inhale throughout three-quarters of the year. One cannot see three yards before one.”
“It’s bad for some and good for others,” answered Scantlebray. “There’ll be wrecks, certainly, after this, especially if we get, as we are pretty sure to get, a wind ashore.”
“Wrecks!” exclaimed the Rector, “and pray who pays the fees for drowned men I may be expected to bury?”
“The parish,” answered Uncle Zachie.
“Oh, half-a-crown a head,” said Mr. Mules, contemptuously.
“There are other things to be had besides burial fees out of a wreck,” said Scantlebray; “but you must be down early before the coast-guard are there. Have you donkeys?”
“Donkeys! What for?”
“I have one, a gray beauty,” exclaimed Jamie; “Captain Coppinger gave her to me.”
“Well, young man, then you pick up what you can, when you have the chance, and lade her with your findings. You’ll pick up something better than corpses, and make something more than burial half-crowns.”