“Oigh,” said Peter, “she have crossed the great sea and the great prairies, and she haven’t heerd many sarmons, for Sunday don’t come but once a month there, but dat is the pest she ever heerd, it is so short.”
“Slick,” said Cutler, “I am astonished at you. Give way there, my men; ease the bow oar.”
“Exactly,” sais I, “Cutler—give way there, my man; ease the bow oar—that’s my maxim too—how the devil can you learn if you don’t hear?” sais I.
“How can you learn good,” said he, “if you listen to evil?”
“Let’s split the difference,” said I, laughing, “as I say in swapping; let’s split the difference. If you don’t study mankind how can you know the world at all? But if you want to preach—”
“Come, behave yourself,” said he, laughing; “lower down the man ropes there.”
“To help up the women,” said I.
“Slick,” said he, “it’s no use talking; you are incorrigible.”
The breakfast was like other breakfasts of the same kind; and, as the wind was fair, we could not venture to offer any amusements to our guests. So in due time we parted, the doctor alone, of the whole party, remaining on board. Cutler made the first move by ascending the companion-ladder, and I shook hands with Peter as a hint for him to follow. Jessie, her sister, Ovey, and I, remained a few minutes longer in the cabin. The former was much agitated.
“Good bye,” said she, “Mr Slick! Next to him,” pointing to the Bachelor Beaver, “you have been the kindest and best friend I ever had. You have made me feel what it is to be happy;” and woman-like, to prove her happiness, burst out a crying, and threw her arms round my neck and kissed me. “Oh! Mr Slick! do we part for ever?”