The man addressed selected a long, wriggling worm from a rusty tin pail between his feet, and calmly wound it with a piece of strong thread upon the “eel-bob” in his hand.
“Aye, thet wear the vardict, Abram; he air to be detained pendin’ the investigation.”
“Pendin’ the investigation,” slowly repeated the other, dubiously. “An’ what might be the ackerite meanin’ o’ thet, Nathan?”
“Well, ez nigh ez I can come to’t, he air to be jailed till the woman be found, or suthin’ definite larned consarnin’ her.”
“And thet wear the decision at the perliminary examination, wear it?” asked the third man, speaking now for the first time.
“Aye, it wear, Seth.”
There was another spell of silence. Abram Skellet, who held the oars, pulled one sturdy stroke, which sent the heavy boat away from the dark, thatch-grown mud-bank it was approaching, out into the deeper water of the creek; and again they floated silently on toward the low point of land, which, in the increasing darkness, now appeared only as a dim irregularity in the line of demarcation between the sea and sky.
After a few moments—
“What wear the evidence, Nathan, agin’ the man?” asked Seth Skellet, dangling an “eel-bob,” composed of a round ball of mingled thread and worms, over the side.