While the blizzards howled in the passes and the timber wolves at the
door,
And he slept in my bunk at night-time while I stretched out on the floor.
"He watched me frying my bacon and he said that the smell was grand;
He watched me bucking the stove-wood, but he never lent me a hand,
And he played on my concertina the airs of his native land.
"And one month grew into two months and two months grew into three,
And there he was sitting and smiling like a blooming Old Man of the Sea,
Eating my pork and beans up and necking my whisky and tea.
"You say, 'Why didn't I shift him?' For the life o' me I dunno;