"Lay on, Quilleash, my man. Why, you're going about like a brewing-pan. What are your arms for, eh?"
The old fellow's eyes, that had been dim with tears a moment ago, glistened with grisly mischief.
"Who hasn't heard that a Manxman's arms are three legs?" he said, with a hungry smile.
How the men laughed! What humor there was now in the haggard old saw!
"Where are you for, Davy?" cried one.
"Scotland—Shetlands," answered Davy, indefinitely.
"Hooraa! Bold fellow. Ha, ha, ha, he."
"I've been there before to-day, Davy," said Quilleash; "they're all poor men there; but it's right kind they are. Aw, yes, it's safe and well we'll be when we're there. What's it sayin'?—'When one poor man helps another poor man, God laughs.'"
How they worked! In two minutes mainsail and mizzen were up, and they filled away and stood out. But they had drifted into the down-stream, though they knew it not as yet.
From the shores of death they had sailed somehow into the waters of life. Hope was theirs once more.