me a single word."

"What was his name, Captain Hardy? Won't you tell us his name?" asked
Fred.

"Ah! that I should have done before; but I forgot it. His name was
Richard Dean. The sailors always called him 'the Dean.' He was a bright,
lively boy, and everybody liked him. To see him in such a state made my
very heart ache. But he was growing warm under his great load of
eider-down, and that I was glad to see; and at last he showed some
feeble signs of consciousness. His eyes opened wide, his lips moved. I
thought he was saying something, though I could not understand for some
time what it was. Then I could make out, after a while, that he was
murmuring, 'Mother, mother!' Then he looked at me, wildly like, and then
he turned his head away, and then he turned it back and looked at me
again. 'Hardy,' said he, in a very low voice, 'is that you?' 'Yes,' I
said; 'and I'm glad you know me,'--which you may be very sure I was.

"But the poor fellow's mind soon wandered away from me again; and I
could see that it was disturbed by visions of something dreadful.
'There! there!' he cried, 'it's tumbling on me!--the ice! the ice! it's
tumbling on me!' and he tried to spring up from where he lay. 'There's
nothing there at all, Dean,' said I, as I pressed him down. 'Come, look
up; don't you see me?' He was quiet in an instant; and then, looking up
into my face, he said, 'Yes, it's Hardy, I know; but what has happened
to us,--anything?' Without pausing to give me time to answer, he closed
his eyes and went on,--'O, I've had an awful dream! I thought an iceberg
was falling on the ship. I saw it coming, and sprang away! As it fell,
the ship went down, and I went down with it,--down, down, down; then I
came up, clinging to some pieces of the wreck. Another man was with me;
we were drifted with the waves to the land. I kept above the water until
I saw somebody running towards me. When he had nearly reached me, I
drowned. O, it was an awful dream!--Did you come to call me,
Hardy?'--and he opened wide his eyes. 'Is it four bells? Did you come to
call me?'--'No, no, I haven't come to call you, it isn't four bells
yet,' I answered, scarcely knowing what I said; 'sleep on, Dean.'--'I'm
glad you didn't come to call me, Hardy. I want to sleep. The dream
haunts me. I dreamed that I was fast to something that hurt me, when I
tried to get away. It was an awful dream,--awful, awful, awful!'--and
his voice died away into the faintest whisper, and th