"Goin' to de dev'," said the sweetly smiling young man.
The schooner-captain, leaning against the shrouds, and even Baptiste, laughed outright.
"O Jools, you mustn't!"
"Well, den, w'at I shall do wid it?"
"Anything!" answered the parson; "better donate it away to some poor man—"
"Ah! Misty Posson Jone', dat is w'at I want. You los' five hondred dollar'—'twas me fault."
"No, it wa'n't, Jools."
"Mais, it was!"
"No!"
"It was me fault! I swear it was me fault! Mais, here is five hundred dollar'; I wish you shall take it. Here! I don't got no use for money.—Oh my faith! Posson Jone', you must not begin to cry some more."