“I'll pud up a word or dwo,” said the Constable meekly.
“Masther Niplightly,” said Cæsar, “don't be too ready to show your gift. It's vanity. I'll engage in prayer myself.” And Cæsar offered praise for all departed in faith and fear.
“Cæsar is nod a man of a liberal spirit, bud he is powerful in prayer, dough,” whispered the Constable.
“He isn't a prodigal son, if that's what you mane,” said Black Tom. “Never seen him shouting after anybody with a pint, anyway.”
“Now for the letter, Jonaique,” said Cæsar.
It was from one of the Gills' boys who had sailed with Pete, and hitherto served as his letter-writer.
“'Respected Sir,'” read Jonaique, “'with pain and sorrow I write these few lines, to tell you of poor Peter Quilliam——'”
“Aw boy veen, boy veen!” broke in Grannie.
“'Knowing you were his friend in the old island, and the one he talked of mostly, except the girl——'”
“Boy ve——”