“You’ll set the bed alight,” said the mate in a low voice, as the end of the match dropped off.
“It won’t hurt ’im,” whispered the widow tearfully.
The mate, who had distinctly seen the corpse shift a bit, thought differently.
“Nothing ’ll ’urt ’im now,” whispered the widow, sniffing as she struck another match. “Oh! if he could only sit up and speak to me.”
For a moment the mate, who knew George’s temper, thought it highly probable that he would, as the top of the second match fell between his shirt and his neck.
“Don’t look any more,” said the skipper anxiously; “you can’t do him any good.”
His visitor handed him the matches, and, for a short time, sobbed in silence.
“We’ve done all we could for him,” said the skipper at length. “It ’ud be best for you to go home and lay down a bit.”
“You’re all very good, I’m sure,” whispered the widow, turning away. “I’ll send for him this evening.”
They all started, especially the corpse.