den spoon, laid down at the same
spaces, and a plate with a boiled herring and a basin of last night's
milk before every guest. And the seamen shambled into their places,
any man anywhere, all growling or laughing, or both; and the maids
flipped about very lightly, rueing nothing, amid so many fresh men's
faces, of the strange chance that had fetched them out of their beds
for work at double tides.

And seeing the two coming back together from the parlor, the banter
of the seamen took another turn, leaving old Davy for young Jason,
who was reminded of the kiss he had earned on the beach, and asked if
ever before a sailor lad had got the like from a lady without look or
longing. Such was the flow of their banter until Greeba, being
abashed, and too hard set to control the rich color that mounted to
her cheeks, fled laughing from the room to hide her confusion.

But no rudeness was intended by the rude sea dogs, and no offence was
taken; for in that first hour, after they had all been face to face
with death, the barrier of manners stood for nothing to master or man
or mistress or maid.

But when the rough jest seemed to have gone far enough, and Jason,
who had laughed at first, had begun to hang his head--sitting just
where Stephen Orry had sat when, long years before, he took refuge in
that house from the four blue-jackets in pursuit of him--Old Davy
Kerruish got up and pulled his grizzled forelock, and shouted to him
above the tumult of the rest:

"Never mind the loblolly-boys, lad," he cried, "it's just jealous
they are, being so long out of practice; and there's one thing you
can say, anyway, and that's this--the first thing you did on setting
foot in the Isle of Man was to save the life of a Manxman."

"Then here's to his right good health," cried Asher Fairbrother, with
his mouth in a basin of milk; and in that brave liquor, with three
times three and the thud and thung of twenty hard fists on the table,
the rough toast was called round.

And in the midst of it, when Greeba, having conquered her maiden
shame, had crept back to the kitchen, and Mrs. Fairbrother, aroused
at length by the lightsome hubbub, had come down to put an end to it,
the door of the porch opened, and crazy old Chalse A'Killey stood
upon the threshold, very pale, panting for breath, and with a ghastly
light in his sunken eyes, and cried, "He's dying. Where's the young
man that fetched him ashore? He's crying out for him, and I'm to
fetch